The Naked Land

 A beast stands at my eye.


I cook my senses in a dark fire.

The old wombs rot and the new mother
Approaches with the footsteps of a world.


Who are the people of this unscaled heaven?
What beckons?
Whose blood hallows this grim land?
What slithers along the watershed of my human sleep?

The other side of knowing .
.
.

Caress of unwaking delight .
.
.
 O start
A sufficient love! O gently silent forms
Of the last spaces.

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