13/Rosary of Summer

& you leave your body on cool earth
while savages of your dreams
stalk the tundra of the seasons,
rain of suns about the blooming wild:
Shall you ever be delivered
from daily ambushes—
imaginary cards, they say,
are flaming on the table—
that crack the whip
of your waking hours,
nepenthe of your dead dead days:
thus, recollecting memento mori
you carry on
like the infernal seas that turn
on their waving,
bodies of sad songs silently weeping

dreaming on to disremember
your daily dreaming

of dark white spaces
& seagulls at tropic zones

There is always the valley or the woods:
But you dare not offer your wrists:

It is not easy after all
to sleep

like the stars.

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