My thoughts balancing
on the ridge upon the house:

Bear thought
Wolf thought
and Raven thought

My body perchance
a mummy
of Northbothnian make,
stuffed with formulas,
letters
and chains
of monochromic sentences
that wind
like Windsor winds

My eyes
two Dalecarlian chests of drawers,
colors of which are known
to flake

My otherness semaphores
in high places;
clouding about;
stretching time
well beyond its natural aging
as I see my hand reaching
for a crust of bread,
or making the bowl sing

If it wasn't for me
I wouldn't be;
sure wouldn't see
him I keep calling he

Water quenches the thirst
of Jesus Christ and Patricia Hearst

the reaches reach,
the peaches peach,
but who will peek a boo?
I have no clue

Time stands still
in my free will,
while moving time is out to kill,
so best just stand around and mill;
my elbows on the window sill;
watch trees climb up the distant hill