e    a

Nothing tells the sand to  l             p.

s

    l

         i

               d

                        e 

f

a

l

l 

p

 o

  u

    r 

into the holes we left behind

or (for) that (matter) waters mingle with ash 

heavy settles first

the floor’s swept-fancies rendered into fat giant dust 

clouds lit up 

electric fire stars

asleep with us, below the tides.

How many hours can I sit here getting old?

Just do the lead crystal ring alarm

draining glass and reckoning history the slow degradation of the king’s rule.