October, and leaves fall down. One feels the world go by.
First frost. And a licking sound
Just under the earth,
                                 great wheels, or a sluice of some sort.
Sunlight thin as Saran Wrap.
A licking sound, the suck and bump of something against something.

One lives one’s life in the word,
One word and a syllable, word and one syllable.
As though ice and its amulets could rise and rest us.
Whatever it is we look for is scattered, apart.
I have a thirst for the divine,
                                             a long drink of forbidden water.
I have a hankering for the dust-light, for all things illegible.
I want to settle myself
Where the river falls on hard rocks,
                                                        where no one can cross,
Where the star-shadowed, star-colored city lies, just out of reach.