Though idle air filtered
in slimy thongs mumbling
brandished the outcrop.
"Below, where we all fall
if we're not careful, listen:
Not to mount these rough, scaled
organs, offspringing serpents,
but take me.
The old-time love-joints,
Unravel this vacuum. These
huge silent estates. Quick, now
that we're running out of cups:
Tarry flesh and foul blot
these years. I'm asking the favor
trapped and bloodless, though
So the wounds stopped, convinced.
The up-hill way home, steep
and indecisive, edged in night,
pitched and failed. To eager an instant,
she slipped and drained off.
Yields to air, a second time,
her transparencies and openings marvelous,
This rock garden.