A magnificent loneliness has opened

its soft, gray legs to me

& I, in the morning & in the swanny dark,

have entered it

like a particle of illness

into a lion’s most readily available

golden opening.

Now the river changes sides, it carries

a carrying song.

When I asked what I wanted if I wanted it

what I wanted wanted

to change the subject. I broke apart

into a disarray of roses,

which sounds nicer than it is, it is

terminal & exhausting,

like God, who appeared when we were not paying

attention. Look, there God is,

right at the beginning, the loneliness

which is made beautiful by the loneliness

it is different than. That one

I have no more use for, I wanted it once

& it wanted nothing,

which I gave it, which it would have taken

from me anyway, but which I am now

saving for myself, hoarding

in my nothingbox.

My new & different loneliness, together

we make an abysmal thief.

The river gives itself to me. I give the river

the river back.