CLOCK

Then I am young and a part of some
Modern expedition that's flung all its members
Along the slower plane of a long desert,
A great, full distance- clinking tin cups.

A lizard sucks his teeth in shade,
Archonic wind glazes the lizard-
For a season I live at this slower plane;
I move up and down its canyons, so many

piñon boughs.

The lizard pumps himself to his eyeballs,
Weird blood-clock thumping on dust
Of the longer plane of the slow desert,
Each tick one thump of the thousand-full eye.

You and I could slowly settle there together

to sleep,

And sleeping we could be there together

in some longer way.