I could move the phase of you
and feast us on the trees

we could look 
to unploughed objects
the hurling breath 
in breaking circles

you stand and speak
it like the sun

but it is dark and we know
we do not grow in it

we lower fitful labors

the lonely expenditures
of living solid space
in the outer hollow

I count the mirrors
of your eyes

and think how they layered
the yellow in the blue

the iris of the silent world
you made alone
while I wasted