In the night your head would turn on the pillow
And a few mountains would rumble in emptiness
As your feet are sinking in space, from the ridge
A corner is felt , an edge slips away into your sky,
In the vestibule of your inner ear, in its dark cave.
That will happen in your absence, to leave taking
That will make the blood tranquil, a subterranean
Stream quietly flowing under tiny polished stones
With your feet washed away to the distant forests.