No One Bears Witness For The Witness

The Two Heart-grey Puddles: Two Mouthsfull Of Silence.

A Poem, As A Manifestation Of Language And Thus Essentially Dialogue, Can Be A Message In A Bottle, Sent Out In The –not Always Greatly Hopeful-belief That Somewhere And Sometime It Could Wash Up On Land, On Heartland Perhaps. Poems In This Sense Too Are Under Way: They Are Making Toward Something. Toward What? Toward Something Standing Open, Occupiable, Perhaps Toward An Addressable Thou, Toward An Addressable Reality.

How You Die Out In Me: Down To The Last Worn-out Knot Of Breath You're There, With A Splinter Of Life.

A Nothing We Were, Are, Shall Remain, Flowering: The Nothing--, The No One's Rose.

Black Milk Of Daybreak We Drink It At Sundown.