Alternate ending of Sonnenizio

Sonnenizio

Now he's singing, cadence on a rough sea:
no quiver in the sky, only a rip, as when a violin plays

and it slices the air around your ears now
and now; how delicate his fingers touch

this instrument, these strings that twangs
when he plucks them, one-by-one-by-one.

Now he's stopping, stillness in a rough wind:
it must be hard to imagine

a stillness having fallen in this weather,
like that of a peach's soft flesh, but imagine: this

was what he felt. I cannot, beside him in a lime light,
with legs like a leave, a quivering almost like two Babel's towers,

see another reason he'd stop: to him a peach stillness
to be tasted this long, and this long: momentarily teeth-in-peach.

A Bulb, a Coin, a Column

Today, this is me: a bulb, a rusty
coin; a column, this close to breaking.

Dream

I spill my coffee;
I lick my fingers, how
they are soaked in coffee the way
rain soaks trees whose crown gleams,
is glass dregs shimmering. The trees are not
themselves: fakes. The ones I know do not sweat,
do not shiver like bees' buzz, had sound been flashes,
do not seem a lemon in colour, no: they have
the ordinary kelly colour. Now I peel bark
of the trunk. Now not, my hands full
of sap. In my right hand I hold
a peach, smeared in sap,
to be eaten.