The restless legs take you,
weightless,
to marshes to find the stilts.
The sea was rising.
What was inside our tongues;
such unclosing stink,
we were afraid to spit it out?
The wronged angels were waiting.
A topless soul wanders
in the rainforest.
Amazing, the tigers were dead
without wounds.
You sit on the window
for marrying a moon.
The quick grafting of the roses
was useless.
All night it had rained.
The hail-stones were as big as skulls.
Eyes were gouged out
and time was blind.
