for Ralston Bedge

overhead, astern

the stars & streams of silent galaxies

a considerable beauty shining with heat

unfelt in this planet's cool evening

the ship plows on, unheard

with a sound like children whispering

the pleasant hidden fields

beyond the near coast

fall away, dark with sleep

invisible they are, through the tinted glass

beyond our power to add or detract

What we call the new world

is really a collection of spaces

Under a sky plastered with images

& leftover ideas.  Each place is but a space

between borders traced by an unseen hand.

There is no place for love's body

in all of this.  Love's body

seems distant in these states

when in the course of human events

the central interest of all unfolds

it becomes necessary

when it becomes necessary

it becomes us to speak

of the centerpiece to everyone living

& all that's contained by human emotions --

love's body, red star over China

the distant planets, the beings growing nearer