the vase has been broken, the fountain dry,
the villa empty, since an autumn
older than years ago.
No swallow nests where swallows flew,
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or skull-grub genocide in the teeming darkness.
Eyes, or mouths of frog, pose
skyward the veiled response
That, where the jetty ends, begins,
ends, where the jetty begins.
Dry bait, desolate on the mirror,
sheers no flicker for the wrist of fear,
for pulseless marble, graven hair,
the self-embalming cowl, granite
willow, weeping
stone torrents on stone lids,
sealing a spring of stone,
jet image of the streaming jet.