Distance is the cog wheel br on the haunted axle of my hearing, br grinding fine the deadened mind br of that unborn god br waiting to be caught br by the earth's blue speed, br and carrying in a handled urn br the plucked heart - ours, br it's beating, it's heard, it's beating, it's heard, br a sphere in wild growth - br the roads are wet with tears, br memory frail and elastic, br a sling for stones, a gondola br drowned in childlike Venices, br a tooth yanked from the cells with a string - br down the empty socket of Vesuvius. And you exist.