Prologue : a stick, a cup, a bowl, a comb
That was a cove, that was an inlet
Domain of a hidden evening
Heave the guide ropes, find a wedgestone
There was a blue light filtering through a keyhole
Ball & chain, mockingbird, the jerk
When birds, wind & breathing were invented
It looked as if it were time for a little praxis
There were thousands of bats sleeping under the bridge
A rest from forced marches
Here in the city nothing is left
