(deep in the caverns
of my heart
there is a coin.
it has two faces
unchanging
and the metal
in the center
writhes
between them,
turned liquid
under pressure.)
turn away,
turn away life
and re-trap me
in the cypress' bark
and come aground,
the stopped heart,
come aground
and bear me
in your crucible
of unbreathing blood.
deep between
the walls of two visions
unfolds
a plane beyond time
weaving itself
of motion and desire:
spill me there,
white heart,
away from the bone depth
of your helpless drought--
spill me out apocryphate,
beyond sight,
splitting
with wetted sound,
at the least,
at the least,
self-enfolding.