Down it darts, a kingfisher, a bolt of hunger unerring, an appetite driven, in flight.

Halted even more quickly, little blue dagger, cerulean awl,

In the clap of a frost-giant's hands.

A cosmic verb’s sublime intonation,

an adverb, between here and elsewhere,

the wind’s secret accent, in elemental

rhythm, pipes alone with multi-nibbed

I want the divinity of lust

I watch for the divinity of lust

THE IDEAL THAT QUIETS THE HEAT OF DEATH

Eidolon