The marking, the celesta,

the smell of textiles on a plain,

the striking of fingers on keys,

to hammer, to steel plate,

anthems know nobody's

temporal liminalities, who crawl

down the stem of the brain, to

the sex… the borderland state

is twilight chimes, lilting drones, soughs

from the nave, bedsheets in the wind

landing on forested shores;

seemingly still, but the third particle

beats under a nightgown, alone,

& sees the ocean undressing.