The Straitening

* Driven into the terrain with the unmistakable track: grass, written asunder. The stones, white, with the shadows of grassblades: Do not read any more - look! Do not look any more - go! Go, your hour has no sisters, you are - are at home. A wheel, slow, rolls out of itself, the spokes climb, climb on a blackish field, the night needs no stars, nowhere does anyone ask after you. * Nowhere does anyone ask after you - The place where they lay, it has a name - it has none. They did not lie there. Something lay between them. They did not see through it. Did not see, no, spoke of words. None awoke, sleep came over them. * Came, came. Nowhere anyone asks - It is I, I, I lay between you, I was open, was audible, ticked at you, your breathing obeyed, it is I still, but then you are asleep. * It is I still - years, years, years, a finger feels down and up, feels around: seams, palpable, here it is split wide open, here it grew together again - who covered it up? * Covered it up - who? Came, came. Came a word, came, came through the night, wanted to shine, wanted to shine. Ash. Ash, ash. Night. Night-and-night. - Go to the eye, the moist one. * Go to the eye, the moist one - Gales. Gales, from the beginning of time, whirl of particles, the other, you know it, though, we read it in the book, was opinion. Was, was opinion. How did we touch each other - each other with these hands? There was written too, that. Where? We put a silence over it, stilled with poison, great, a green silence, a sepal, an idea of vegetation attached to it - green, yes, attached, yes, under a crafty sky. Of, yes, vegetation. Yes. Gales, whirl of part- icles, there was time left, time to try it out with the stone - it was hospitable, it did not cut in. How lucky we were: Grainy, grainy and stringy. Stalky, dense: grapy and radiant; kidneyish, flattish and lumpy; loose, tang- led -; he, it did not cut in, it spoke, willingly spoke to dry eyes, before closing them. Spoke, spoke. Was, was. We would not let go, stood in the midst, a porous edifice, and it came. Came at us, came through us, patched invisibly, patched away at the last membrane and the world, a millicrystal, shot up, shot up. * Shot up, shot up. Then - Nights, demixed. Circles, green or blue, scarlet squares: the world puts its inmost reserves into the game with the new hours. - Circles, red or black, bright squares, no flight shadow, no measuring table, no smoke soul ascends or joins in. * Ascends and joins in - At owl's flight, near the petrified scabs, near our fled hands, in the latest rejection, above the rifle-range near the buried wall: visible, once more: the grooves, the choirs, at that time, the psalms. Ho, ho- sannah. So there are temples yet. A star probably still has light. Nothing, nothing is lost. Ho- sannah. At owl's flight, here, the conversations, day-grey, of the water-level traces. * (--day-grey, of the water-level traces - Driven into the terrain with the unmistakable track: Grass, grass, written asunder.)