Piping down the night
around my mother unseeable,
who contests the fellowship,
piping down the night
around my mother absent,
who contests irreverently,
piping down the night
around my mother timid,
my mother who contests my mother's trifle.

Piping would be plagues, the blanched bones
and our trifles molded into bloody fruits,
and the labile, turning face I and my father saw,
and that let us encounter it, from the landfall
mother before the land fell.

Where are all the swords slept in her head?
The narrow hilts capitulate from her as a bouquet—
so she had such a bloodless, white neck;
let winds and beasts and the sun have it,
then I can seem soot black.

Piping down the era
within my wife a mother,
who collects the tree,
piping down the era
within my wife taking place,
who compels a phratry,
piping down the night
within my wife timid,
my wife who contracts my need of a mother.

One more mother, a cutter, could start a myth
turned by feminine Fates, maternal,
and beside myself, a man or son at last collied
by all the piping trifles.


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