[1] I give you a gift Of stones:

White stone, brown stone, Anchors to hold down Your each winged Eyelash from disappearing From my vision.

[2] I hold my gift On my tongue:

Your pubis, you belly, The windswept plazas of Venice, The fragrant, noisy souks of Cairo. There I bargain for a fair price As I am sold into your bondage.

[3] I sleep, your hand Holding mine:

Dark earth enters the belly. Arms become a basket Of birds, of stars. Roots coil and weave The limbs, white stone, brown stone. A kalpavkrish grows from the palms.

May God us keep From Single Vision and Newton’s sleep ~ William Blake

Bent over with your double vision Of muscle and glass, you watch me Shuffle on the rippled surface Of water, without (in the pond) And within (your eyes).

Thus kept from drowning, from sleep,
I manacle myself with the word To your constant gaze, the end of all vision, And become a strider, a water walker, Crossing into your lit shade.

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)