“With a changing key, you unlock the house wherethe snow of what’s silenced drifts.Just like the blood that bursts fromYour eye or mouth or ear,so your key changes.Changing your key changes the wordThat may drift with flakes.Just like the wind that rebuffs you,Clenched round your word is the snow.”

“Count up the almonds,Count what was bitter and kept you waking,Count me in too:I sought your eye when you glanced up and no one would see you,I spun that secret threadWhere the dew you mused onSlid down to pitchersTended by a word that reached no one’s heart.There you first fully entered the name that is yours, you stepped to yourself on steady feet,the hammers swung free in the belfry of your silence,things overheard thrust through to you,what’s dead put it’s arm around you too,and the three of you walked through the evening.Render me bitter.Number me among the almonds”

“Speak you too,speak as the last,say out your say.Speak-But don’t split off No from Yes.Give your say this meaning too:Give it the shadow.Give it shadow enough,Give it as muchAs you know is spread round you fromMidnight to midday and midnight.Look around:See how things all come alive-By death! Alive!Speaks true who speaks shadow.But now the place shrinks, where you stand:Where now, shadow-stripped, where?Climb. Grope upwards.Thinner you grow, less knowable, finer!Finer: a threadThe star wants to descend on:So as to swim down beliow, down hereWhere it sees itself shimmer:in the swellOf wandering words.”

“Autunm eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends.From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk:then time returns to the shell.In the mirror it's Sunday,in dream there is room for sleeping,our mouths speak the truth.My eye moves down to the sex of my loved one:we look at each other,we exchange dark words,we love each other like poppy and recollection,we sleep like wine in the conches,like the sea in the moon's blood ray.We stand by the window embracing, and people look up fromthe street:it is time they knew!It is time the stone made an effort to flower,time unrest had a beating heart.It is time it were time.It is time.”

“With wine and being lost, withless and less of both:I rode through the snow, do you read meI rode God far--I rode Godnear, he sang,it wasour last ride overthe hurdled humans.They cowered whenthey heard usoverhead, theywrote, theylied our neighinginto one of theirimage-ridden languages.”

“in the air, there your root remains, there, in the air”

“your song, what does it know?Deepinsnow,Eepinow,E-i-o.”