Counterpart
A feeling, such that the newness of eyes in the beloved rituals of time take on surreal overtones, spent animal upon the surface of the sea, transformed by an eyeless night, looking around at the mystical vistas, stamen upon finger, lips upon mouth, these broken fragments can gather up their terrestrial moths, burning endlessly at the wick of a candle, only the counterpart of the dark surface of tears, worn heavy on shoulders that love life.
Reprinted by kind permission of the Regents of the University of California,
Bancroft Library, Berkeley. Gift of Diane Walker Murray