*
saturn
abrupt
sonorous honey
avid gold. i see
the astral hands shaping
the river courses
and drawing the shadowed sphere
around the eye
and
i feel the quivering gold of the lip
the (whole) earth so
tangential to the miracle
bread justly
just leavened
and the ash ring in the finger’s absence
and in the womb the stone of a name
wrapped up in satin
*
i am the colour of a safire above the movement
pierced by wires
when you call my name
i am saturn in hermes, and
domes of sound, and (i see)
my children’s faces outlined on dust
nourished on the briefest light spasms
(and, i see how) memory
is here the opposite of light
stuff of warm amphorae
contained in a bell jar of roses
in a womb-like penumbra
here
*
only i see hermes jumping garden fences
recoiling from torment and pain
carrying on his chest a basalt saturn
and, i remember
always like scent
or agro-hunger,
myths
names arrive afterwards
at the poem
over walls slanted by thirst
bright lit indigo eyes
and on the sand (the) houses modelled
between shade and sea
by the months’ deep red sweat
i see how the names: stars, afterwards
overflow from the earth
as if having found the hands’
empire map
and, how in the skies of your heart,
roots are decanted
from stones, as if
that death were the map
and we were reborn from the fingers’ minerals.
Alive,
*
and, i see the sky
and feel all fruits, all names on the
inside
i know it all
by astro-heart, lyre and song
i know the eyes the houses and vexation and ecstasy
of water and lymph poured out on the loins
while on the steppe of the earth
the stars hear the chords
of battling bodies
i know the name of the face and the place
and (whether)all the last eyes of the dead are mine
*
i know
the hour is hasty, if
the distended mouth
is encircled by honey
in the tardiness of the horoscopes
i look in the eyes
from mercury
to mars the dagger the skin, the succinct chisel
of an instant
*
and finally as if it were amber
shaped by eyes
between copper thresholds the artisan
in my name sails the salt
the living basalt of the hands
the whole skin the whole lymph as a bell jar of thirst
*
and, without names, only as a balancing island, i see
the emerald coloured fan
sowing
sepal ash blood with honey and fright
(all around the orchards)
and within all the emotion of names
the landscapes
mouths
houses made
of living basalt, i see
*
(i see) the earth like a shoulder high thirst,
and while the father breaks bread,
the names come
as if
they were arcades buried underneath gentleness
and an instant
names spinned by spindle and lyre
pierced by the synovial artery of sound
time name thing between
skin and pore bread and fire star and house, it is
*
it is long the journey between
echo and heart
and the head
still in clay, if
the garden is trespassed by the sea:
eyes between volcano and moon
nothing is as light as honey, or snow, and
blood is also something
erect
round the waist it holds the names, and the mercury of the eyes, and
*
the names, shadow of a shadow under
the shade, unmemorable basalt
every name is unmemorable
always another shadow
and then the encrusted images
are a woe
on the bed of dust
i now greet the bird
the budding stem at the foot of boats
i now greet the flashing
hand between temple and clay
and
between sphinx and idea
the blindness of movement,
(and) the names: