I was in the grace of thingliness, I was in the breaming
The sea
Lifting not
to hear
neither there, nor in a forgotten for
this flapping
tail to hull
the ascending body, an application
myrrh myrrh
our scent, search poised to form, he tells me
Marden's last look at
Saint Jack
of
mobile bild, a way
Forward, the line at the base of the ark are you bent
writing into line eternal
end facing Fuentes, Proust we wish to know no whelm
to walk, as you do, on
Mer mer
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