In half the time it takes to look ahead

And see the light that saunters from the sun,

Already I am half asleep. Truth, decrepit nun,

Emerges from her well and seeks my bed.

-

You must have seen her, standing in the night,

Against a tree where bats bring fruit, and worms

Converge in conference. “Prepare to merge

This image, with the orange glow of the light.”

-

So then she said to me, but I kept shut.

Knights rotund with armor broken, beaten,

Then gathered ‘round a temple’s holy glen

And prayed like Shi’as before the minaret.

-

Oh, mystic saint, lady of the language,

Lady of the music, herbs, and spirit,

In spite of this, you still deign speaking plain?

-

Then place on my head the tentacular gauge,  

Let fire overwhelm and extend my limits,

Unlearn me that this cloistered world may be made.

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