loves of the prophets, ch. 4

Nevertheless: carve into the live oaks of the mind, of the voice--Oh!
it shall not be said of us, "They turned away the clouds." Lord of

hosts, the people of hosts. He has eaten every one & the caverns of
the lungs of we that are his. Along a straight path of divination

& of lies, we find ourselves among hills determining that even wool
may not suffice for this great cold--in the changeable suits of the mouth.