The Straitening

*

Driven into the

terrain

with the unmistakable track:

grass, written asunder. The stones, white,

with the shadows of grassblades:

Do not read any more - look!

Do not look any more - go!

Go, your hour

has no sisters, you are -

are at home. A wheel, slow,

rolls out of itself, the spokes

climb,

climb on a blackish field, the night

needs no stars, nowhere

does anyone ask after you.

*

          Nowhere

                    does anyone ask after you -

The place where they lay, it has

a name - it has

none. They did not lie there. Something

lay between them. They

did not see through it.

Did not see, no,

spoke of

words. None

awoke,

sleep

came over them.

*

          Came, came. Nowhere

                    anyone asks -

It is I, I,

I lay between you, I was

open, was

audible, ticked at you, your breathing

obeyed, it is

I still, but then

you are asleep.

*

          It is  I still -

years,

years, years, a finger

feels down and up, feels

around:

seams, palpable, here

it is split wide open, here

it grew together again - who

covered it up?

*

          Covered it

                    up - who?

Came, came.

Came a word, came,

came through the night,

wanted to shine, wanted to shine.

Ash.

Ash, ash.

Night.

Night-and-night. - Go

to the eye, the moist one.

*

          Go

              to the eye,

                    the moist one -

Gales.

Gales, from the beginning of time,

whirl of particles, the other,

you

know it, though, we

read it in the book, was

opinion.

Was, was

opinion. How

did we touch

each other - each other with

these

hands?

There was written too, that.

Where? We

put a silence over it,

stilled with poison, great,

a

green

silence, a sepal, an

idea of vegetation attached to it -

green, yes,

attached, yes,

under a crafty

sky.

Of, yes,

vegetation.

Yes.

Gales, whirl of part-

icles, there was

time left, time

to try it out with the stone - it

was hospitable, it

did not cut in. How

lucky we were:

Grainy,

grainy and stringy. Stalky,

dense:

grapy and radiant; kidneyish,

flattish and

lumpy; loose, tang-

led -; he, it

did not cut in, it

spoke,

willingly spoke to dry eyes, before closing them.

Spoke, spoke.

Was, was.

We

would not let go, stood

in the midst, a

porous edifice, and

it came.

Came at us, came

through us, patched

invisibly, patched

away at the last membrane

and

the world, a millicrystal,

shot up, shot up.

*

          Shot up, shot up.

                    Then -

Nights, demixed. Circles,

green or blue, scarlet

squares: the

world puts its inmost reserves

into the game with the new

hours. - Circles,

red or black, bright

squares, no

flight shadow,

no

measuring table, no

smoke soul ascends or joins in.

*

          Ascends and

                    joins in -

At owl's flight, near

the petrified scabs,

near

our fled hands, in

the latest rejection,

above

the rifle-range near

the buried wall:

visible, once

more: the

grooves, the

choirs, at that time, the

psalms. Ho, ho-

sannah.

So

there are temples yet. A

star

probably still has light.

Nothing,

nothing is lost.

Ho-

sannah.

At owl's flight, here,

the conversations, day-grey,

of the water-level traces.

*

          (--day-grey,

                    of

                        the water-level traces -

Driven into the

terrain

with

the unmistakable

track:

Grass,

grass,

written asunder.)