enter no(silence is the blood whose flesh
is singing)silence:but unsinging. In
spectral such hugest how hush,one
dead leaf stirring makes a crash
—far away(as far as alive)lies
april;and i breathe-move-and-seem some
perpetually roaming whylessness—
autumn has gone: will winter never come?
o come, terrible anonymity;enfold
phantom me with the murdering minus of cold
—open this ghost with millionary knives of wind—
scatter his nothing all over what angry skies and
gently
(very whiteness:absolute peace,
never imaginable mystery)
descend