65.
Any hand that touches is a dead man’s
hand
you feel old Time along your skin
caressing or pressing leaving small
scratches
later you can read as words runes or
oghams
or just the southern whiteness of
your back saying nothing at all
of course we want the body of the
other to talk back
what else is other for but revelation
apocatastasis and the whole cosmos
reels back to the start
before we were one and two and many,
mind
a white sail far out on an old sea
up to you to tell if setting out or
coming home
weird cargo and all the sailors sleeping day
and night.
66.
On the fifth day of the fifth month behooves
to mount
highest point on the island view of
other islands
what more can a word do but open the
door
other words on other words sending
sea light before storm
storms remind us of where we’re
coming from
so much mercy so little sense we call
it police
we live inside it as if it had a roof
over it
it has nothing up there but numbers
we live in a machine
or we live as a machine this beach is
pure numerical
this seven is a diamond ring my
mother wore all the time
I saw the same blue light in crystal
once in the Himalayas
what was I doing there what was my
name.
