Your World

             in pockets, is nothing in

                     itself, that asphalt, those letters,

     says I remember, it swept through

               me, stayed, in sweat, on the teeth,

      the breath, sweeping, I am sweeping,

                             it is to break roots or

        black rain, the so small the slippery

                     chances of the sky, what

    should we save, what was saved? Hide

               in long grass wasted time, you

          will bear it, in your

                        heart, you will take it

       out of your mouth and

             say they should be

taken, it passed through

                 them so quickly it tore them:

   we live in this breach, we

       can lie there, we can

                     kiss, it would draw the

wild grass over us, we have lost

           nothing, nothing is lost, yellow

     grass, straw, when have I

                          ever left you, when did I

                                stop carrying you? With my mouth,

                my goldteeth, here, scouring,

                    broken down, in streamvoices,

       black on gray stones

                               small wings flutter

                                             here and also

here