No more messages in amber and celadon bottles,

or letters full of bees

smoked out of glued envelopes, stamped

with gargoyles from your corner of hell.

Oui, you are the navigator of this small boat.

Yes, the silver needle on the compass points true north.

Non, the sun is not temporary.

Oui, the moon is a mountainous eye with a vision.

Look, already you are asleep

inside the body of the mother

in your dreams.

Yes, you will be delivered.