I wrap my knees in what is missing
Wherever I go wears the camel smoke, sandy threshold, my foot, my god
Wherever I go sounds the syllable, bellows out the window low low bell
O hell
Written in syrup though I am, I swift to thee in honeyed memory
I wrap my knees in what is missing, I garner sympathies
Nothing
When freedom rings, I shatter the bell, break me neath thee
Glory be to thee in the highest mud, run along now, little one
Clapping
Iridescent knowing all that I do not, that’s it, I’ve got it
Bring a tender to the spit fight, mender of all things just fine
Alright
Left for life along a river, wise-legged, drumming up a writhe
Tithe for driftnight, ripplesight a new sigh, don’t be leaf me
Standing
Neath the feet of the yet to come, o holy, by my breadcrumb
Meet the fervent wreckage of a day new done, knew only, knew
Some rye
Iris floating, scleratic ladder pulled down to up we go go now
Flow slow how, stick it sticky sticklessly, mein frau, and every
Turn round
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Trace the image of the camel smoke
History in the air, indeed, as the image is not
An image but an odor that lingering remains
Long decades after my father's remains were made ash and buried, wrung-clung
To his long gone house sweater, everywhere saturated with this already desert
Presence, stung-flung, abrasion marking the
All. Scent-memory carries water in the wilderness of
Loss. It reeks of enduring
Devotion within the passing cloud