In the footsteps of the walking
Sky's prophetic chickens weave their cloth of
And hillsides lift green wings in somber journeying.
Night in his soft haste bumps on the shoulders of the
And a single drop of dark blood covers the earth.
Now is the China of the spirit at
In my reaches.
A sable organ sounds in my gathered
And love's inscrutable skeleton sings.
My seeing moves under a vegetable
And dead forests stand where once Mary stood.
Sullen stone dogs wait in the groves of water…Though the wanderer drown, his welfare is as a
That burns at the bottom of the sea,
Unknown roads for sleep to walk upon.
