The mist of countless sleeps
rests in the fleeting
night,
and still
–
I lay here
–
A cell in a concentric
fingerprint
imprisoned, in sediment;
myself in this breathing
window, clearing where
I, ingrained, remain
the kaleidoscope
in an eye
clouding
with the milken residue
of the bliss of the infinite
kiss of the blind.
–
Blink at me sky of lonely star-
dust, occlude my eye of green
tempest and drain sap
into the obsidian night
I will sit quietly
enclosed
in the drowsy bloom
of a constellation
–
From the tail of which fall
the trails of a last light
in the space, behind the
maze where
the dark of my eye
echos out in the night
and a lonely star
tears inside the dark, outside
the world of this blink
and I, falling, fleeting
gathering in the mist;
embrace everything and nothing
in my sleepy, sleepy eyes.
–
To be devoid of everything,
but my nature-
it must begin
in the nakedness of an end,
I must be free.
