dark storm-beaten city of stone
pure lilting of electric flutes
gold spheres bright as glass a radish leaf
nightfall descent of snow and seeds
the moon enormous, dull and rufous
light shines from gold slits of windows
he came to this country
with opals and aventurine to pay his way
do not think of him as man or woman but as the four
registers of voices
there are things that outweigh comfort
blossoming pear tree in spring snow
fields of snowgrass
groves of white trees white leaves
no wind and cairngorm shadows at the
mouths of caves
rain falling the dust of summer
the city with its carbon heart
trees with pale-scarlet roots
zinc oboes playing
silver of rivers in the distance
ice rivers under frozen rain
the air is sullen as an old otter in a cage
he sang an unknown liturgy
and paid three opals to have his future told
can one read a cat's face
deep bright eyes that do not change expression
starcarbon seething from the sun's white rim
she would not tell him
the day that he would die
what do you call it, this world