stand on the rim of a day before nightfall
steals it away from its zephyr sky.
at words with Constable mud & chestnut
crushed husk mush & the man in black & green,

who will call out what is within the day's
light. a ship borne on its crest banners flung,
as though all were within him, that phantom
man you dream or that it should come to this,

a pirate flag of a Flying Dutchman.
or that the river's rim flow on into
the lantern night where every door opens
to the stars with a blameless threshold dawn

& the sky now unfold upon this rim
risen Jerusalem, si se mueve*

*Galileo. si, no se mueve pero se mueve
yes, it doesn't move but it moves Gift of Tongues