the moth of beginnings

the castle, most watered down, shrieks -
          its bottom spared the moth of 
          beginnings, it hums an ancient
bawl

the river, riven in its gutted wear, bends -
          its weave turned in to speak of
          beginnings, it gnaws an ancient
crawl

doors that are voices

see me through doors that are voices
        carrying asphalt when it should be
        loam    -   dream me through doors

that are voices, silting hue  -   when 
        will the sun sit with me, remember
        sunken sky & play with half-lives?

see me through lives that are doors
         that are voices carrying the silt of
         days, banks that are salt & hue -