I told you the words to it oriole.
Now when an ear come
say it right.

Consider 
        the ink-charged brush
on Wang Wei’s scroll, how the stroke that will mean tree

He speaks to me so that my whole
         drift gathers to his verse:
the page like a gravestone, his terse

Nothing alive can keep us as we go.
The end loves all the doors that close away.
We may embody what we never know.

What does he have to give? No less space
than usual opens above him,
outward to the Van Allen Belts and beyond,

He has none, of course.
Appearing to carry one
in the specious recesses

There are hundreds of secret things
You should reveal; because when you
Repress one thing, it sets off

I am convinced of my true behavior —
How my impulse at certain times unfolds
like a hand limping over a rail road track;

Like dots before your eyes, the ships 
Roll in on the new tide and drop anchor. 
“They will go away,” you think. But later 

It was our favorite pastime, to be sure,
those hairs waiting to be split, those pieces
that passed understanding. We thought we'd find