As if your absence now concluded long ago.
At the white place of the road's vanishing
Event, the end of the painted road ends up
When I am heard, and what I say is solely
Dismal, endless plainó
Toward something that the world is pointing toward
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
II. Quest and Conquest
People might see to be the opening
IV. The Paths to Cathay
Floating on the sky.
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
I bring down a bit of its light
And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
there's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.