So what when serpents have heard us they coil up To dry by the time that the desert is falling Into the night light of daytime eroding With glaciers unwinding at finding the crux. Then what encumbers the mantle to ravel From gravel the planet to spin up its spirit As near as the season is pleasing to stroll in In little but living the image as such. For what is given the timorous whistle To tremble in embers the size of the wilds That grind from the marrow the malleable moment And freeze it completely in seeds come apart. And what emotion can cry in the cupboard To lie to a husband in saucerful curtsies Out of the slaving affection of tyrants As waiting containment to shut up and start.