A passage from the night Drops onto the page:

My hand reaches for the word And touches a body as firm As basalt, touches light pouring Through a sieve in it that was Woven by wind, a trellis that was Drilled by long absences.

A paradisiacal rose whorls Over the space that lies Between light and shadow Where nippled thorns, Alert like cat’s ears, listen For footfalls of ghosts.

From this one must gather Pebbles, gather rushes for Paper, gather driftwood to Float dreams upon. For this One must pay with sleepless Passages through the dark.

(After a photograph titled Paysage Nocturne)