daz Herz an sich

The cold, wind-teared face of night,
the gaps between perception,
tree and eye, eye and mind, heart
and another heart hurt. The way they
damage us, our deleterious hope. The way we
still rise in the golddust morning,
sprawl in grass rising over our bodies,
sun-lid light, warm red wind
and an eye opening into
everything all afternoon again,
sunbed, cloudleaf, a goldfinch
deleting the land and landless luft
in fine-lined, bonefeathered wings.