…with autumn, the
vineyards lay
like rolled, baroque jewelry.was earth, but
only

in interstice, in its
narrowest passages.weren’t the
eyes, those
cherished relics, looking for their own, lost

portrait?molding the air
to that abolished
anatomy?




enter, but
where?feed, but on what?teased to a squint,
heard the breath press
on those swollen
gold
clusters.