Heat Death
After the light and after
the song, in the part of the day
which goes out, where nothing comes back
at the wall of time, just after
the end of the matter.
At Kether, just this side of Ain,
the mind and the way and the door are one.
Like Evening Grosbeaks feed in flocks
and scare together, like Egyptian charms
stuck dick like
in the earth
and meant to keep the bugs from the corn,
like paleo‑flints chipped by a fire
then put in a pouch for later.
Like a green lion eating at the sun.
After the gathering of time and space
and when it’s all done up in a cone:
then we are back with the stars awash
in our mouths, plural, the same, and alone.