Whisper me a few lies, god, beautiful and familiar lies. Try to shoot the fireworks out of the sky With full grown tender things called souls. Sing low, sing high, sing never come back here again. With the light behind us—our darks divided falling to the floor, Singing O, this sack of water, swaying on its hook of bone While the body says simply, Stay. But the arrow groped on toward its mark Into an almost invisible earth. I inhale, exhale, move onThe way a painter enters a stud...
