the last quarter

the last quarter
feels soft
it fades
on one side of the face

there is a gradually increasing
voidness
the light is stretching
and slimming down

any meeting now
could be the last

how will she articulate her death
to posterity?

like the clapping waves
subsuming each other
we dissolve into our children

the work is to reduce
all meaning to an instant
of gasping foam

the memory of the ancestors
is a film of brine

riding the swell
of endless generations
in the tide

the card trick

I wonder
  how is it?
  when tricks unfold

in the green room
   of your Manichee
please please implicate me

I imagine a faraway land
 a dead hand
      tending the pleasure garden

the Achaeans advance -
 quick leave a Linear B tablet
hidden there for me

Golden child
    of the teasing curls
    sing quickfast your song
         of growing old

the well worn blue shoe
      is a measure
        of  something -
      your tempest is famous

the poet's hand
       unfolds on the card table
      with elegant typography

and in some later eon
     they discovered a message
  ensconced in its dna

the perfumed remark
     of bad gods and good gods

your gated sanctuary
is better with no mention of me

so lets go over this once again
 from the top