At sunrise the deer eat pieces of the quiet, they eat spaces between the quiet & the sounds—; & the numbers on the calendar lie flat in their boxes, they leak through tiny holes in the minutes, evenly so, so evenly, an active sense, before the sense was made… There, now, opposite to set down, the agreed-upon, the shape of the obvious drawn by an earlier enchantment before the new anxiety set in: the workers are safe; the terror stilled for an hour; a lover’s outline, dreamed or imagined, before you read the one-page book again, what was that book, it had no copyright— & what was before? a life, the dazzler, the dark, the singing dust, it turned when you turned, it orpheus-knew what you forgot when you took the bowl of burning time across the room— & if the previous is closer to y