I Can Still See You

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

With every Thought I wentout of the World: there you were, you my Gentle One, you my Open One, and –you received us. Whosays that for us everything died, that for us there the Eye broke?

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:

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

When you liein the Bed of lost Flag-Cloth, with blue-black Syllables, in Snow-Eyelash-Shadow, the Crane through Thought-showers, comes gliding, steely-you open for him.

You were my death: you I could holdwhen all fell away from me.

No-man kneads us again out of Earth and Loam, no-man spirits our Dust. No-man. Praise to you

With the voice of the You squeak up, a Clamp, you bite through my Shirt into the Skin, a Cloth