I found myself outof order and coldlike a boat in the trees,silver and ancient.I ought to falltowards the shore, landingsomewhere among the reedslike a clear fruit of water.
Water comesto my gardenin the finest coatlaced with rich lace.And on the night of the fire,all the doors in the streetdancing with light…The world is an old wifenot seen since the wedding.We turn a country into a cotand not a bed.