GLASS HOUSE

1 4 3 R G L A S S H O U S E S H E R O D S A N T O S Not for nothing the days come round a bolthole basement Isle of Swans a rabbit cage mattress on the floor a pinpricked pomegranate seed the mind climbed clear of the molten spoon the chimneyed foil the mind cleared saying yes to more to evermore the milliliter scale the nodding over from time to time the nodding out half a life ago your hair’s on fire I could’ve lain there as I was forever close enough to nothing but you to hold come out from the dark the dark heart beating earth sky as one beating your face going rose a cross perhaps or some other ornament around your neck your face to the candlelit floor come out come out from the dark I said come out Eyes closed against the flame I heard above you the hummingbird’s hum more in the morning high in the head still in the air the semicircular hum of prayer halfway in half out of mind no harm in having achieved the bottom 1 4 4 Y to say there’s not much left to achieve the hummingbird high in the head above you in your bed-sick bed I booked you in in the afternoon the next to last time I saw you booked you life-like breathing in asked what would become of you now that I had booked you in in the gatekeeper’s eyes it was almost over the needle in mid-stitch stopped the door behind you in admissions closed the seasons waited to downward burn Counting backwards from one ant-like ink across the pages took it down for what it was words strung together in a phrase phrases strung together to the point of no going over it again of nothing more from where I stood when you came to the last time I’ll see you is now you said. ...