And the air
I wear as talisman

of time’s passing through

    the space of all
         this blindness

                                                              
          flowing from beneath
               my words

                    referring to the

          falling apart, away

          of their idea
                    into these thoughts

     that resemble

          reliquaries:

               voluminous clouds above—

               apertures between words—

all late and incomplete, contained breakages

gesturing to the light
     arched between pages

          of an image parsed

               into component parts:

a measure of bodies
         in time

a pneumatic awareness
          that the density
               of air

    is loss,          lost in recursion

       driven by lapses
                 of occurrence, now released

          under the juniper tree

the new notion

                 a half instant ago

               where my solitude was made

          atmospheric

and the truth of each statement rising
        is made to regard its own

            depth

as deceptive vision
     insulated

          cold and incapable

                    as a drop of water
                    suspended from the spout

    of my tongue

          despairing of its own
                    statement

                       making of me, endlessly
                       what I have just been

in the space wrested of the current
from the river of day

                              O blessed swill of air