h unkered

hunkered by villages the old man hunched on the bridge his keepsake working the space of no delta the wayward trilium of its bluster, the rose breath wreathing the second this continuous pain

.

before the grain and sand , the eye, worked the erring hour
the occidental shy of its pairing, not a simple sailor
but Ulysses and her song,
sheeting the edge of dog night its rags its tenements
and its burial wrong.

.

not the other pampered by the basement
but the broken deceit of trickery
not treachery's greatness
but little trickery its pettiness