After naming comes colouring in

Long tilda nilson.

Long gendarmes.

Obsolong wilkers of nune.

Pertankeruss lobsong ter bilser;

dus teric, dus oblong, dus elm.

Lines Written As If Last Thursday

In this dream the dogs bark backwards
as if to put you to sleep.
The hills are much the same
but the going is easy
as you climb toward something:
not a sacred image, or forgiveness,
something more complicated,
so much so it exists only now
while you're reading your eyelids
and your own peculiar ghosts
the wind can't get through.
It tries, don't doubt it;
even while you are ascending
-a grand word, noble, like your
current disregard for posture;
parts of you are breakdancing
the rest of you a waltz,
which suggests
a divided spirit
except, we know better, because
just before you fell asleep
you touched us with a moonpaw,
the lightest brush,
more a whisper of touch than anything,
a ghostdance,
and mumbled a phrase
-or telephone number-
I didn't catch,
only, it came out urgently
as from a whole body and mind,
the complete package
cartwheeling away into soft deep space.