People walk out of themselves into
the river. The surface
is a sound you can’t hear.

Entering a cave, or stepping outside at night,
artificial blindness, temporary
but absolute. And if I lost sight,

Is it a myth? And if so, what does it tell us about ourselves?

Is Kong a giant ape, or is he an African, beating his chest
like a responsive gong?

As evening lifted off the canals
and sounds we couldn’t see through,
muffled as a vaporetto moving through water

I know why all the old men want young 
girls, why the other old men love young 
boys, for I see how they are like 

        Their footsteps formed the paisley when Parvati, angry 
        after a quarrel, ran away from Shiva. He eventually 
        caught up with her. To commemorate their reunion, he 

And even one’s sour self can seem to be
Innocent of the malice that is poison.

Give up the yearning to be some
One other than you are;
Surgery leaves a scar.

Scared sacred scarred
the aging and unread bard

Yearning was fuel; yet the white-out buried the climber,
His possessions, chalcolithic gear.