Deer Place Hut

What a long walk back

to it and who

knows the dialect?

The animals pool there.

A line of ice above us

adds an inch down

and the room’s light grows

greener, atoms tighter.

Lean over The Great Code

where it lies in the rot on the desk,

as if hatcheting in crows and flickers

on the west side of the mountain, all raccoons,

deer were welling

above it, the very book,

lumpy, spiking look cross-hairing, lodged, over

the writing in the book. Truly have

to clean this desk.

Ricorso – but in one late, late,

scene in eros’s mystagogia, opera, clever,

sad, foot-careful, they muster

before the odor of this alone-ity, the room which is a room-

coat, the smell of theatre screen lightly

cooked by images,

mostly of our small, shapely wills moving their hands.

A line of ice, ascesis and fate, forms above us

brush of pear branch on this mossed roof.