Ashglory

Ashglory behind your shaken-knotted hands at the threeway. Pontic erstwhile: here, a drop, on the drowned rudder blade, deep in the petrified oath, it roars up. (On the vertical breathrope, in those days, higher than above, between two painknots, while the glossy Tatarmoon climbed up to us, I dug myself into you and into you.) Ash- glory behind you threeway hands. The cast-in-front-of-you, from the East, terrible. No one bears witness for the witness.