Rift, inhuman, as signature's
    chosen accident

Thins to a trickle — almost enough
    to identify
Or bring to term

Her name alone. X looms inside
That orb of shadow

    translates
The color of
    Flatland's missing dimension

Just so a page is turned, geometric
Field of the patriarch

Surveilling cell
Whose walls are permeable
& blessed with wounds

    her letter exfoliant there, as if
Darkly aflame

Lit (this vertical: this veridical
Eye)

    candle an echolalia
    pared to its pulsing root

Declines, starlike to Late Nature
The history of signs
Choked with intervals of ecstatic doubt