you and your adolescent wandering/ all the dark places and that lurid glare/ your river stories/ the villages are always deserted/ your age was that summer a jury/ morning snowstorms and we just went back to bed/ the virile ivory in the temples of taboo perceives the shipwreck and the shivering as entering the phase of frenzy stopping in its tracks the torture house, the strange land you so loved, the bedside of the timekeepers/ the walls were overwhelmed by all your photographs/ the captors of the enormous room/ whose windows were the equinox of a very small aluminum kitchenette/