It is scribbled along the body

    Impossible even to say a word

    An alphabet has been stored beneath the ground

    It is a practice alphabet， work of the hand

    Yet not， not marks inside a box

    For example， this is a mirror box

    Spinoza designed such a box

    and called it the Eighth Sky

    called it the Nevercadabra House

    as a joke

    Yet not， not so much a joke

    not Notes for Electronic Harp

    on a day free of sounds

    （but I meant to write "clouds"）

    At night these same boulevards fill with snow

    Lancers and dancers pass a poisoned syringe，

    as you wrote， writing of death in the snow，

    Patroclus and a Pharaoh on Rue Ravignan

    It is scribbled across each body

    Impossible even to name a word

    Look， you would say， how the sky falls

    at first gently， then not at all

    Two chemicals within the firefly are the cause

    Twin ships， twin nemeses

    preparing to metamorphose

    into an alphabet in stonea