moving slowly
in the summer of
our agony.
The first made
memory more
vivid
than the marks
in wood no
deeper excavated
The easy mood,
followed the grain
drank mead
follow the swallow
of reeds moving
limpid from
their stems, their
roots beneath
them. Agrestic
motions, fade
and grow;
flow the way the oceans flow.
Dark night felt
deeper after fire,
moved, but went
nowhere. The rifts.
Soft tee-shirt not
bought, but found
later. Swim in it
for no reason, but
wet cotton
on flesh.
The great wake
up, hungover it seemed
then without drink
and no sense
of additions, no
medicinal herbs,
no primrose. The
black tie, tied too
tightly, replaced or removed.
