As if created to do the founding, love let go
the ground, spoke the barrier/ of lilacs. Spoke
past rifts created: you threw me soundings of set woes—
we found, woke sea's carrier/ doves. Tied back, choked,
sea 'round broke. See, wary, her/ doves died back, smoked
this measure, closure, stele, live—
a sound mote. A buried Ur, / love's eyes ask hope,
wish pleasure, plovers, Estrella's fires
miss-savored over. Well's a lie
in the bright, bare grasp of a room
winning spite, rare asps shoving doom:
I give you my digital, my radial, my baldest baby
lies. Tributize with it all. Try raiding lulls. Sight calls this "maybe."


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