All I read
has succumbed

The words heave

The fingers of my hand
moving in front of me
in this hidden tenement flat,
in the light
of the reading lamp,
come across this unknown moment
like the fledglings
in a bird's nest
or the juvenile adders
twirling;
waves of motion
running down their elongations

Life is hiding from gods
and villains
in the unconscious quest
for time

I am a rustle in the leaves,
some foam on a beach,
a starry sky
when no one is looking