But it was in the river
that we became cadence, there where the current braided
together again, after the stone bridge stanchion parted the stream.
It was to last only as long as the beauty lasted.
Do you believe in the soul?
Words from the void, wet and mewling.
Where we walked on the mountain, water
poured around us, surging up from springs, seethed
down in rivulets, rocky streams, and one long blinding cascade:
your kisses were an eau-de-vie and as bitter.
I am poured out like water.
Distance is feminine in French.
I held a knife to a man's throat and let him bleed quietly into a cup.
What does "us" mean?
Coiled serpentine headdress of Leonardo's woman:
you wanted her. I wanted you.
Chill sunlight flexing itself on the city river
gave me the emptiness I needed
to write these instructions: Sorrow
is a liqueur. Drink deep. We will all be consumed.