I hear a noise that is simple
a ringing that may suffice my temper
If I can find the substance
which allows my mind to whirl
like a spool un-spun,
dissolving into a single thread
the single point that I believe myself
to descend into mortality
and rid of my own conscience
My, spine, undone, will lead my way
through an abyss of my own creation
to part from myself and love the soil
to become the roots rather than possess them
it is a dream that I will have only now
a fantasy that will die together with me
until I am no longer together myself
but an unending string, webbed in coincidence
with a prayer on my tomb,
and the earth on my lips