eight rabbits in reins settle their / cottontail feet in the molasses earth / and begin their whimsical dancing
how many / times must I be broken and reassembled!
The air was a season they had bought…
My mind / Is like the harp strings, with a breeze blowing always / And no rest in sight.
Let us eat nothing but darkness / refuse our stale orbit / and walk only in sleep
The eye leans out to those white wings / Molded in flight like waxen things / To slender stems.
the city’s not so big, the / hills surround it.