Bats Moving Under Eaves of Trees (Two of Pentacles or Coins)

You swim in your own attire,


a pool of darker hour made weightless




We are embroiled in our own watching










Everything promises a message, but your small, your smallest


sign of the infinite looks as much like inkblot as dragon


                                               ∞



As time fails, the night sneezes    Your sense of the periphery,

the way you figure it,



makes dust rise    To our nostrils    To your damp frills