I could spend the whole morning coughing up dark spiders
those dear friends of insomnia, those third wheels,
those inner beings of mine.
In the beginning God made no distinctions:
man, fish or nettle.
He would open an owl’s eyes and stare
at the translucent mountain.
In the morning the dark plum of the sky
spreads across one’s body.
The head circles around the sun inscribing its age
into the wooden pages.