How behind the fly mask
the eyes of a horse
overflow? And how the lather
rising from its flesh?
How the white shrouds
hanging from the lake?
How when you look away
does a cloud divide in two?
How mitosis, how divorce,
crows afloat on a patch of snow?
How the black wicks, waiting to be lit?
How the moss, with its love of mist?
How the stones, covered in moss,
the earth, covered in stones,
sky under the cover of stars
sliding over the hood of a car?
And the mobs, the strange bombs
dropping through the night
with women painted on their chests,
the cloud-cover, the nimbostratus,
the laughter echoing in a darkened
stairway, the song, the whisper,
the half-whispered password of a stream
swollen underground with rain
—and then the greeting,
and then the kiss, how the kiss?