This solitude cannot be overcome –
that is the first truth. It is the beginning.
There is in my eye a greater grave
of two in a silent house.
The self must hold –
no other can know its secrets.
Sex plays havoc, like a siren, says,
you and he will tame the sea –
only to be cast beneath the cuttings.
Through my thoughts crows fly –
thin as a vein and filled with hard locks
that will not be turned over.