Here Robert lost his scalp.
A great red ship
bore down on us in a thick wind.
There was no city, only rowboats
on an electric river.
The sky of clouds reared
up and threatened us with
serenity. Fly, ships, fly!
On one island: smoke.
On the second, houses sound out the verb
vivoter
in a French empty of people.
A tuft of hair on the crown of his head
so that if he were beheaded
he would be carried by this tuft
rather than by the mouth.
Friends came forward to the guillotine
to ask permission to put the head and body together.
Trappers showed themselves.
Bitter forests, pushed to the edges of space,
lugubrious engine of white upon white:
God, why is there so much of you?