Illegibility

In the Almond – what dwells in the Almond? Nothing. Nothing dwells in the Almond. There it dwells and dwells.

Your Hand full of Hours, you came to me – and I said:‘Your Hair is not brown.’So you lifted it, lightly, onto the Balance of Grief, it Heavier than I… They come to you on Ships, make it their load, then place it on sale in the Markets of…

I hear, the Axe has flowered, I hear, the Place is un-nameable, I hear, the Bread, that looks on him, heals the Hanged-Man

On my Right – who? The Death-Woman. And you, on my Left, you? The Wandering-Sickles in extra-heavenly Placemime themselves

Most brightly of all burned the hair of my evening loved one: to her I send the coffin of lightest wood. Waves billow round it as round the bed of our dream in Rome; it wears a white wig as I do and speaks hoarsely:

more fully, since snow fell even on thissun-drifted, sun-drenched sea, blossoms the ice in those basketsyou carry into town. sandyou demand in return

Silence, like Gold cooked Hands. Vast, grey, near as all that is Sisterly-Shape:

The Polesare within us, insurmountablewhile Awake, we sleep across, to the Gateof Mercy, I lose you to you, thatis my Snow-Comfort, say, that Jerusalem is, say, as if I were thisyour Whiteness