Laughing below, the unimagined room in unimagined mouths, a turning mood speaking itself the way a fulling should overspilling into something's dome, some moment's edging over into bloom. What is a happening but conscious cloud seeking its edge in a wound or word pellucidity describing term as boundary, body, violated bourne no sounding center, circumscription turn. Mother of mirrors, angel of the acts, do all the sighing breathing clicking wilds summon the same blue breadth the sense subtracts, the star suborning in its ruptured fields.
From Nomina by Karen Volkman. Copyright © 2008 by Karen Volkman. Reprinted by permission of B.O.A. Editions. All rights reserved.