The wild cry of this undulant night
Whose blue’s more silver than purple
Slides like a voice in search of signs
Like words, foils of the brave sublime ‒
The flesh of many minds like symbols.
I can’t find such a straight, untethered line
Except in her, and the unchained sounds
Of my future ‒the night is white with a girl …
And then I look to my left, to my right,
Seeing things like glossy marbles
Strung to build my rope of time; to lull
The knot that signs at the knotty middle ‒
Unravelled now by a carrying wife
Whose care holds more than unskinned love.