Constellations of gods, myths, birds and fish,
consoling through stars atop the pools of an unknown
distance and those of Apus, Aquila, Tucana lie
beyond sight but of the very same light that falls
upon these northern fields of frost and snow.  

...............................* 

No ending nor a beginning, stance of fresh wind,
emotion grasped, corridors through formlessness.
Thought incomplete without imagination shaping
gravity with its own pace upon this off struck scene,
that seeps its hold beyond oblivious completion. 

...............................* 

Any ideal upon a moment is a trapless fold shutting
on a galaxy steadied about a sun with many moons,
a personal breath strung to each new pulse lifted
then to go on by weight of the path and the trespass
over the monument, amidst reality left revolving. 

...............................* 

Every vibrantly varied thing that exists around like
inside the identity where there is none and no other-
bashments kindred with canorous funambulists,
pileated twists of enchantment in the reflections
off the edges of everything not having been absorbed. 

...............................* 

Which is the rest, what has silence surrounding words
as blue as warm stones submerged under buyouancy,
a settlement into a region permissible. A memory
or purposefully what you have right available, a heart
that’s sound to slide through your capsules environed.