Poets

— "The April dead, the narcissi, and the light, now at its brightest, and the River that carries us away. And it's the dark Heaven shining and it is all shadow of burning jewel and with burning heart the bare Night, as a girl, white, jasmine.

Kiss me and allow a dead mouth to rot on yours and let the stinking flesh of my dusk sing it to you the old bird

I Now the clear night you enter, Night, you who burn in our hearts.