DIN

DIN

Ein Aug,

:;:

Eigentlich

:;:

cut the wor(l)d from our

skull, a way left

:;:

in silence, here

a scratch, a battered

notebook, too much

unloved, the white of

god’s eye, another moon

of this wor(l)d, an
other year of fakes,

an unfinished list

:;:

THE MOONLIGHT OR HER SKIN [from the vault]

THE MOONLIGHT OR HER SKIN

'nunc tibi me posito visam velamine narres,

sit poteris narrare, licet!' nec plura minata

dat sparso capiti vivacis cornua cervi,

dat spatium collo summasque cacuminat aures

cum pedibusque manus, cum longis bracchia mutat

cruribus et velat maculoso vellere corpus

every night before that day,

for months, he had no sleep,

but his breath caught in his throat,

the baying of the night hounds

echoing in his ears, as he dreamt,

staggering through black woods,

the Huntress looking down

at him from the milky moon,

her blue eyes the clear pools

among the pine forests of his

sleepless dreaming—and after

those restless nights, when that

day finally came, his friends flushing

out hart and doe behind him,

with that dread pool ahead, water

gone still in the silence of his sight,

he knew he would never turn his gaze away—