155 When doors don't protect and don't let out; when windows Stare, in stupor, at the world of walls; when the ceiling Stealthily descends upon the floor to squeeze evenings, Half-blind, in a stifling tomb of lonely sleeping; When sleeping is tiresome in a clutch of blankets; When my days are leaking through the holes of my dreaming: Dreaming of us both, split just by skin, just the meaning Of words, just by dreaming -- I am almost empty.


Confined Verse
Collected Poems