Es
..tre
….ma
…..doyro—
is that how you said it when first you began
to notice it, when it first dawned on you
that physiognomy is now just
again becoming revolutionary?
Es
..tre
….ma
…..doyro—

is that how you said it when you first felt
her pelt-like skirt refuse that milk that we mistake for skin,
wondering how Duval had kept it in, staid so sane when
even da Vinci and Dalí dealt in multiplicity.
Es
..tre
….ma
…..doyro—
How impatient you do wait for night unfolding ever into night,
as if an interstice or caesura could shed some light as you do faces,
growing sick at how you will appear when once again
we sew you neatly up—
yo
..seré
….tar
…..de
esta noche.

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