Dearest Reader

    He painted the mountain over and over again

    from his place in the cave， agape

    at the light， its absence， the mantled¹

    skull² with blue-tinted hollows， wren-

    like bird plucking berries from the fire

    her hair alight and so on

    lemon grass in cafe in clear glass.

    Dearest reader there were trees

    formed of wire， broad entryways

    beneath balconies beneath spires³

    youthful head come to rest in meadow

    beside bend in gravel⁴ road， still

    body of milky⁵ liquid

    her hair alight and so on

    successive halls， flowered carpets and doors

    or the photograph of nothing but pigeons

    and grackles by the shadow of a fountain.