Mystic hours,

Nighting in silence,

Lightly stardown.

A language of dust

         gales in confusion,

As a fineveiling conscious falls:

         jibbermot by sillybull,

         more meaningless

         than thought.

Drift words beach

In the moontides retreat.

Pearlless shells of wisdom perpend–

         And poolshine peerflect

         the indefinite sky:

Where a billion fire alphabets

         failspell an answer why.

Spring 1985