Orizaba, IV. 26
Cathedrals of rock, blue
Zones, pools and fiddler crabs.
A white sea snail
Sleeps suspended in the light.
The signature of cypress
Against the sky. In these dawn
Intimate worlds left standing,
Minute horses and bandit worms
Stretch through threads of vine.
The red ferns, branches of my eye;
The keys of lichen and trumpets of
Coral the wild lamps
Of that other, perpetual night.
Once, you asked, Why do sand
Dollars die with their leaves
Like the star of a man’s body?
Clocks of five hands and no numbers,
Fit for the pocket but lost at sea.