Seizing a chance in
a trice, in one dark September
night of apotheoses-
a bird crashed in my
lap. I would not know
the virginity of the strange surrender.
The windows were tall,
with the black laces violating
the sovereignty of light.
I will not know you, will
not call the black magic,
will not transcend the body.
The white lilies were
staring down at water.
Was the dawn nearby?