The blue winter sky is heavy
Enough to hold it up, carried on
The back of Winter Solstice. I saw it
Through the window-cross: Stars
Different colored
Lights in the space-shaped sun
That’s your mind: They’re strung around
The universe-sized syllable
With loving hands as She sends a sentence,
Time-beam of sound, down;
It’s Mistress Muse, making sense
Out of this fourth dimension:
I can only see the edge of
The syllable that’s outside
The sentence, with multicolored stars
Hanging down, glowing softly. I can see them
With my heart, that I share with strangers.
None of the fourth dimension fits
In my exhale-echo of the Devil-sound
Within that’s the sentient sentence.
Beyond that language ends.
It takes a third eye to see it.
My living room at night becomes a forest.
Animals from the underworld hide in the shadows
Of trees. The Devil is naked there, standing,
Glistening in the silver moonlight.
Feet on the dirt, he’s all three dimensions
And can’t leave language.
