... (xxvi).

the moon watches from the corner of her eye

the night opens like a door

and the hills stand high

in sharp outline,

behind her sloping gaze

--eyes you, waiting

if you'd walk in these halls, then

you must go forward also

quick--in gleaming outline

in flashes

let us walk

through the shadows falling

off the tile

sprawled across the pavement

leaning, grinning--against the stucco

with the city padding between us

you're a simple soul, eh?

that makes you lucky

--you don't know what you can't do

no dancer--you go running

trade skill for distance

since I'm having trouble denoting "forward"

I'm taking the graceless slapping

of your sneakers--as the echo of the walls

here--to delineate the shape

of the rooms that lie before me