From air to air, as through an empty net, I made my way between streets and
atmosphere, offering, in the advent of autumn with its largess of leaves like
a shower of coins, and amid the sprouts of springtime, my greetings and
farewells to that which the greatest of loves places before us like a long
moon in a dropped glove.
(Days of the splendour of unrestrained bodies: steel reduced to the silence
of acid: nights unravelling to the last, uttermost particle: wounded stamens
of the nuptial homeland.)
Someone was waiting for me among the violins; someone who found a world like
a buried tower sinking its spiral form deeper than all the strident
sulphur-coloured leaves; and I thrust my hand deeper yet, turbulent and sweet,
a sword sheathed in meteorites, into the gold of geology, into the most
genital portion of the mundane.
I placed my forehead among the deep waves and descended: a drop in a
sulphurous peace; and like a blind man, returned to the jasmine in the garden
of humankind’s wasted spring.