Leaves in flame hanging in a marble door mirroring nothing

into the smoke content in silence

we go believing ourselves amid the new dark lamps of storm

our words as thin veils in our throats

yes anything can live in this drumming rain, it reminds us

of thirst like a highway to days another, a voice here begins singing:

"sun-hum, old autumn who, gold compass spins on old road to you"

and then with endless bones, with pulse of screens in our gazes we plunge into Anything, eating magnolia hours

arriving at 1000 openings and new eyes emerge on our faces,
carving circles through the air, skimming the imagined circles of tiny planets

our bodies leave us here and through a tremendous unblinking

we awake again at the shores of ourselves