Asking the sun to come soon,
           i still sense,
                 inside the glad dimness, this love—
                            the aluminum cloud—;
               balance of night that shines
                        in the cedar, earth’s
                             energy struggles
                    with its cloak of worry,
              Venus drops from Jupiter, its radiance
                    delicate as saliva—;

                            from our bed, its bed
                  their bed: getting up to keep watch
           under the genderless shadow of events—;
       violence in the only heart—canceled!
      In warmer valleys,
new little badgers, blind & furred—:
               regrets to the heronry! the heron
         cannot see them, where they hide . . .

                            History wakes us
       to sort it out with the press
      of great voices, silent now—; i fear
              the bosses will always win.
            Behind the owl, a broken line of sound:
                            green or baby everything:
            badgers, herons,
the spirits have abandoned me;
              let me not abandon myself—