another fleeting wind

the train is gone now
alien heartchild—
understanding seems circular
in the morning

your stare is only approximate
in my annotations—ah, desire
is just a cousin at an early age

and so many of your words
are like the lead-coated
bird under Greenstreet's knife

shall we dance
in the pages of another book?
shall we sleep?

(Sidney Greenstreet's character, Caspar Gutman, tries to chip the paint off of the Maltese Falcon statuette to find the gold underneath. There isn't any, of course. An illusion. What does Sam Spade say, the last line in the Bogart movie? "The stuff dreams are made of...")