And The Verse Falls To

The Night Is Shattered, And The Blue Stars Shiver In The Distance.

You Are Like Night, Calmed, Constellated. Your Silence Is Star-like, As Distant, As True.

Eating Alone Is A Disappointment. But Not Eating Matter More, Is Hollow And Green, Has Thorns Like A Chain Of Fish Hooks, Trailing From The Heart, Clawing At Your Insides. Hunger Feels Like Pincers, Like The Bite Of Crabs; It Burns, Burns, And Has No Fur. Let Us Sit Down Soon To Eat With All Those Who Haven't Eaten; Let Us Spread Great Tablecloths, Put Salt In Lakes Of The World, Set Up Planetary Bakeries, Tables With Strawberries In Snow, And A Plate Like The Moon Itself From Which We Can All Eat. For Now I Ask No More Than The Justice Of Eating.

I Like On The Table, When We're Speaking, The Light Of A Bottle Of Intelligent Wine.

I Love You As Certain Dark Things Are To Be Loved, In Secret, Between The Shadow And The Soul.