from Helsinki
When I came to it was a place impossible
to distinguish from the place in my sleep
and so severe was the damage to my sleep
I could see a great mistake had been made
to have slept there at all and how damaging
it was to the hand in the dream should I lay
in that hand and should the shingles believe
me as though all learning truly is recollection
a sash working a tournament trails through
one cataracting room to the next for there are
no paintings really only static land-based projects
towing executive hair and fully robed statues
preexisting their quarries and spending more
and more time alone in the villa I can barely
recall this honeycombed ridge what was it doing
mouthing characteristics of its own terrain
inklings my taste had gotten used to full-truck
sunsets oars made of thickening glass and sudden
postponements the sensation being featly carried
inside a whitened swat of applauding spheres
voyages where each man can bring his own hug
the ditch where I saw a mainsail completing itself
