The Hazards

All the hazards of the donkey were as wooden fingers in my hours.
The deadly fury of the sentinel pierced my roots with metal spines.
At last the moon’s white octopus came forth from within my heart.
Her arms transmitting the whispers of heaven’s sublime embrace.
Her eyes the living gaps from which the worlds and stars are born.

All the dangers of the dead were as rays of wonder in my instant.
The sentinel’s armies attacked my birth and death like ants of gold.
At last the moon’s white octopus ascended from my dream’s hand.
And laid her eggs upon my sleeping lips so tenderly.
And made her song become my skin, and made her soul my seeing.