What debt is this whose currency is sleep?
   What clued me in

To your delay? What’s the content of a leaf?
   Who’s fool enough

To commune in them? What choice poisons
   Commingle with chlorophyll

To chase us to the other end
   Of decay?

To what address can we send the flowers
   Or in lieu of flowers

What fund should we invest with this thousand-mile
   Stare through flaming

Fields of aster, star-torched tendrils of our
   Vision insisting

In pale ashy patterns to leave some room
   For the ghost’s donation?

Can I ask who’s calling? Aren’t you
   Sleeping in?

When will I wake, erased by a glacial gaze
   Frozen out

Like a convex plinth of air’s obsession
   With a pyramid?

What’s a poem compared to a mouth?
   Who’s there to hear it?

Why are all your texts written in
   Invisible ink

At this late hour? To whom
   Do I owe the pleasure?

This is drawn from “Lines and Circles.”