Sappho
Whether it’s really an island is any-
one’s guess, but the ocean is black as far as
The mainland, and the mainland is crumbling in-
to the water. She swims
To music that no musician is playing
and will never be sung and will never be
Written—the music of consciousness, purer
than water or sky
Or the body that carries the lyric for-
ward forever in silence that only the
Body can bear (bear over sings metaphor)
on or off islands
Where once the woman reclaims her nothingness,
and only the osprey watches the tidal
Grinding of earthliness, no consciousness cares
what any music means. 
Adornment on an Ancient Tomb in Tibet
Another Horizontal Lyric
Gall Themselves, and Gash
Hund’s Rule
Sappho
Thrombosis
Urn Burial