From the Book - First edition.
Starke, north of Gainsboro.
Nothing so stoic as a child done early.
You took from me all manner of things.
And everywhere offering human sound.
Stuffed with dark cotton.
Entering the fourth head.
I hear the flood of Sunday afternoon.
From the Empire of Missing Uncles.
Our new and smaller lives.
The way I give it to you.
As if arising from a rough bed.
All the cold mechanicals.