THE LAST ONE TO DEPART
SHOULD CARE TO TURN OFF THE LIGHT.

In rarefied camera obscura
there stood Quetzalcoatl
unreaving his feathers
to the scioptic, purple born wattle.
And funnellike is the sleeplessness
he for us gathers.
The tightrope waits out historically
for his blood

it is his scaled flesh that we flap high
it is his flight that we scale off
the Feel-of-Things
the Things-of-Feelings
both well-balanced in genders
each tempted with the other side of the apple
un-ab-using, infrared serpent
thy will be Poetry,
snaking masterpiece
neutral
forevermore unsigned!