nor did Seguin worship Valensa
nor Blancaflor his Floris
[as I] my pulse-[quick],
[come]-unstoppable you—
Our endearments, do they lie
unechoèd as theirs,
my songs [unsinging] themselves in the ditch-dark days.
… … … … … … … …
These spendthrift wanderings
[delirious], athwart your breasts
safe passage from
words to [wine] to weightlessness
adjustment to the shore, the slow remains,
the [decommissioned] vault of [spent] desire. . .
Time does not traffic
in [true] and false
Time is neither [or] nor either/or.
… … … … … … … …
Encoded in [our eyes], love like light itself dies.
Burn your self into every [inch] of mine.
… … … … … … … …
Our song [unsinging] itself in the ditch-dark days
