Down

How is the road down? It isn't hot
At first, though I admit the air
Feels moist, but there's a soggy
Cool like moss, which grows
To luxury of slime, and only later climbs
Into its magma malt.

The way it looks: the hollows of eyes
Watch the entrance, and the distance
Is a bird's reply. Tears of water
Course the rocks, somewhere wind
Will try to talk. Soon the sun
Blinks, then the floor drops.

Entreaty

--- "Because skin is soft, and a comfort
As the sheets are drawn up
When the mattress warms
From the heat of two bodies, and the cool
Blows in from the window like a kiss,
Like eyelashes brushing the hands.

Because skin is hot, it suffers and surrounds, it opens
And embraces, and it rubs. My love,"
Eyes dart among the gaps that call, the halls
That spread out, though, unlike the darkness, do not touch
The murmur of the stars. -- "She is gone, she does not hear
Or see, she does not feel, never will a heart
Stammer at the impulse of her eyes, lips will not
Describe what they remember, hands
Will not grab hands, teeth
Cannot graze tongue." (She's come undone.)

Philolaus

In the center stands
The fortress, Zeus'
Oven, guarding
Ether's seed, the pupil
Of the burning globe,
The penetration of its light.

Around revolves
The starry circle, sphere
Of fixed illuminations,
Through which medium
Refracting light ignites
The sun, our moon.

Below the moon, the planets lurch
Through cycling births,
The variations of the earth
In its distinction from the sun
Effect the dawn and bring the day
Upon the hidden truth of stars.

The Antichthon has never known its twin,
And apart from the eclipse's sign,
Remains obscure. Beyond some way
Of tripling triples, darkness, until opposites
Define an edge; lapse
Relapses to return, and emptiness
Extinguishes the burn.