(Of so and to then and in Rome oh so) inter (stellar, as our always,
          local and tender, buttons and haystacks,
          the hot points feeding direction night and the eyes)
(a flung into silence, and the particle–emptiness of words) inter
          (city and the urban desire,
          the happening on 'fire' in Firenze, and once I
          came south with a handful of snow in my pocket)
(in the astronautical fear of loss, of Major Tom days) inter
          (the body, the way you glance at me, or we might say
          everything, only, the once)

The book opens with its minute type its superb trawl of data
and the book says 'a yellow dwarf star of spectral class G2' is
about to set and it says 'The Cassini Division and the shadow
of the planet on the rings are apparent'
(And I came south with a handful of snow in my pocket)
The book opens with Copernican rigor and Babylonian adventure
and the book says 'ah' the book says 'blood' and opens
says 'soon' and 'again' and 'don't cry'
and speaks of the naming of the First Point of Aries the book
speaks of precession carrying the signs westward 30°,
or a whole sign, with respect to the constellations
(And I came south with a handful of snow in my pocket)
The book is 'the book' and the book opens and it opens
and it speaks of "Mizar with the faint Alcor ('The Test'
for normal vision)" it speaks of the arbitrary zero of longitude
(And I came south) (I came south)
(And I came south with a handful of snow in my pocket)
And the book of silence speaks:
'It has a screen coated with phosphorescent zinc sulphide;
a tiny flash of light signals the arrival of a particle':
the book speaks of plasma 'a fourth state of matter'
and the book opens and opens and is 'the book' 'the book' 'the book'
(And I came south) (I came) (And I came)
(south with a handful of snow in my pocket)

The book says little of Mandelstam's 'science of goodbyes' (extra)
          the need to go on
It is 'the book' of the body, of bodies (extra) terrestrial
          quiet like a great forest hushed before a storm
I left you outside the café shortly before dusk (extra) and the day
          was split into two blocks one half was home
          one half, running light in my hands,
          all that home, being home, could never reach
The book is 'the book' of absences (extra) ordinary losses
          the trickle of whispers on wristwatches,
it is the weight of the periphery it is (extra) the endless
          harmony of the rings
We know that, we know it's (extra) the cost, the prize
In the book there's a saying (inter) and it speaks of the clearing
If our night is so giant, we'll know then
And it will be the night of the book (inter) like the night
          leasing us with leaving

Then the harmony of the rings ends

(Then x is your mouth y my mouth) plotting, plotting…
(And I came, z, South)
(Then y is your mouth x my mouth) plotting, plotting…
(With a, k, kiss in a pocket)
(With an, m, miss in a pocket)
It's clearly visible…

And as the book opens and opens the tiny
axes of words bury themselves in the tree of the book
again, never, now, once, and falling…

Copyright © Michael Ayres, 2003.