and then there is this sound that starts with a scarcely audible rustling inside gold the whisper echoing within the diamond grows to take in snatches from high stars from elsewhere the disintegrating actions of clocks so that eventually you attend to the infinities of numbers shattering the shriek that is the change of several millions • the red fish leaping from the mouth up the cold fresh stream to the empty source spilling down through stars and through the watching courses of stone until the fixed mesh abstracts unerringly each hour with all its clamouring brood jerking routinely to the tune • noise of concerns sequestered ultimately will get out states sundered bleed surely each to each by breaking bounds ghosts traffic through the empty squares stay mum and the child will answer even what it must not know which you realize cannot but end in an exposure • bones may well bring meat to market on the road voice lodges of the throat there to recount the exaltation of the source disclose the system shock of close attention and to the distracted hearing it sounds a history of all the ordinary aches we suffer • when the thieving that was well advanced faltered the imperial presence surveyed the ordered territories and declared in measured words nothing there is savage any more intelligence and griefs are tamed rage is reduced in parks only perhaps along the furthest bounds may be some dirt a little ghost and these are even as we speak contained in three quart jugs • sea will fit full of fish of many orders these will be my varied meat then surface craft with manifests for relish weed for bread abyssal waters for cold broth though scarcely yet begun finished already and to follow garrisons brief zones of time and influence the tempting metals of the air do not they fly and last of all bright asterisms will fit in • in three quarters now you lie lacking a fourth of your voice that flew at once away not a tremor breeds within the marble orchard and is it that this simply is either finished or not or not yet begun perhaps truly not begun twig of bone empty still until there come the words now quite forgotten whats the air the sun leans down and lifts the sea • jugs standing sealed and safe exhale intoxicating the rare earths dark matter in the air there is nothing either fishing the empty grounds the heavy elements turn over in their sleep uncertain ever when the filling when the thieving • millions are too vast cruelly they hunt the fields and bring down awkwardly the quickening in its course behind their staggering weakness leaves devastation and impersonal rage but even these may be attended to outside the foundries where they sleep howling as sometimes fierce and weary one will sprawl and rest its harsh throat on your arm and then there is this sound • the tune of several mysteries what brought this on the sand whispering in your veins what wind of knives could buzz the nodding headbone blind what soft amends the clock disintegrates the sun does not rise the dream is mistaken pulse of sand is roaring obliterates the red • exposure to the extreme stillness of fire the flickering rock disturbs all night across an empty sky the high frosts creak and strike the clumsy sun leaves on the grass the shadow of the vaulting white beyond the bounds no silence no noise • we suffer an old vertigo that strikes with the first dream of irresistible winds across these settlements thats how the unhinged thrones and dominations fell attending as joints lost their grip throughout the deadlocked centuries as new wood broke disordered from old stock voices were joining in a round of bones