Paradise of Weeping Hearts

Overwhelming the stop-motion of a world; is all the world so quiet to me.She was sleeping. So peaceful when we are still--and they are still.How I miss the pond that never rippled. Outside home the white swans Where did they all go? Travelled to oceans that move so fully and slowly--a paradise of girth. And we all get older find others in shapes ofWhatever find affections whatever it is to us--at evening meals speakingto usIn the not moving creases of rooms corners of homes humanness. It isA weeping--a weeping murmur in a corner sat in mornings it slipsBack part on part to us and so we can then weep in the day. The waysunriseLights them--and sets upon bodies and brooks painted onto the being Unseeable the arms and legs and breasts until painted awake; I was onceMade of hearts and more revered the heart--longed the dense clinchingFlesh and then longed only a time a still day without its constrictions.