lone and level

That one
who raised their head, lion like
to the wind
and after a stillness, bent again
drank the last draught with slurping lips
eyes full of reflection
belly parched

the wind of the night would carry them away
soul and still,
water and were,
two, the last syllables of wreck or din
leaving the glass and steel towers to reflect themselves

until the billion billion movements of time,
unrecorded time,
turned those, too, to a cloud, dry as dryness itself

dry as the sun, who never took our name

Singularity (edit: Gods of simplicity)

The bomb is like a string

Unstruck

It is

Still

Moving

  Two

        One

We see             one another

      Through time

Itinerary (edit of Oct 20 2014)

Spend a year attending to the taste of things

sunsets on a cold morning or the red of a policeman's gun

waiting with one's hands empty

At the end of the year

ask how tastes an apple

sharp or blue or like a number

develop sensitivity to sour bliss and smooth hopeful
                                                                desire
                                                 simple things
                                             like gravel
underfoot
at the beginning of the road from home