Awake I break and chip this language
As if I am trying to bang out acanthus leaves with
The blunt face of a five pound sledge;
Just call me:
Grazia, (a Dio).
Full of sleep I slide into the Jungian upper room,
Strike the uncomprehending Pentecostal match and speak:
Wavelets around boats that ply
Apostolic present perfect street.
My dreams blink and smile:
Stout woman in a flowered dress.
Flash of thread.
Globe of sky,
Not the world
But the breath of it:
Water stands suspended within
Bright still chaos of oxygen
Where swallows weave with crosséd paths
Nets anchored round scattered signal taps.
Antennae of the televisions
Buoy mark this random ocean.
From rooftop to rooftop
(da tetto a tetto).
Test a mon io.
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