(interlude in A-minor)


(notes from a hermitage)


Alone and not,

in the space shared

 by disallowed,




Lucid lines or lies

predict a just decay

of time. Marks wander

freely on presences’

dazzled terrain.


One, two, six, eight

four. The signals rest.

The eye of God numbers

 all steps to Orthogany.

Get, get it straight.


Rooms without

boundaries so frail

as significant waking,

residues of originality

forgiven, ignored.


Sentiment fades;

Rationalized actions

and affectations fade;

Memories fade last

in vagrant noise.


How long it has been!

Paths unnumbered,

confused or free,

steps counted,



A boy or a girl,

or a cat, or a bird,

or the swift lizard,

fooling the mole–

 find a home.


Steel is cold

because it drains

the body’s heat,

better, say,

than air.


On the bed of steel,

my body must get hotter,

racing against the death

of the Universe. So all

depends now on dreams.


Rain at a zenith softens

more than confuses edges,

making space palpably bare,

limiting some probabilities

as assurance expires.


Architecture, I heard, is near.

The third voice said so, and I,

distracted by memories of you,

pretended to hear, imagine,

and begin to believe.


Is that, I asked,

the promised storm?

Or, more indifferent rain

dulling the open sky,

our frail horizons–


Is that, I cried,

an equation of one?

with no solution,




Yes, and no.

Yes, no,

are halves

of a struggle

 resolving nothing.


Geometry endangers,

Abstract thought is a threat.

Color my desires with sense

and sentiment and limits

to what can be seen.


Hours limit, unless

others intrude, obsessed,

demanding and secure,

like monks who scold,

extending all of time.


Above your street,

emptiness of movement

confirms or conforms,

enforcing the datum

commonly known.


My blood passes

across and through,

flooding the chamber

wherein passions

promise more.





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