Panic

I live in the darkness of light
I live in the still of the wind
In the blindness of sight
In the hush of birdsong
In the sere of the rain . . .
There is pain

I live at the bottom of breast
I live on the slope of the hip
In the crack of the kiss
In the numbness of touch
(In the sere of the rain) . . .
There is pain there is pain

I live in the void of the moon
I live in the softness of stones
In the flightness of wings
In the breath of dead leaves
(In the sere of the rain) . . .
There is pain there is pain there is pain

I live in the heat of the ice
I live in the waking of sleep
In the salt of spring flowers
In the perfume of blight
In the space of time
In the time of space
In the walk of the race
(In the sere of the rain) . . .
There is pain there is pain there is pain there is pain

I live in the darkness of light
I live in the still of
I live in the blindness
The hush of
The sere:

There