while the world sleeps

outside the dirty windows
the earth moves
like a thought that forms
and unforms
and forms again
before it thinks a word
as words are water weeping
small trickles and tiny skin vibrations
sensations of the mind
lugubrious passionate nothings
but this is not sadness
it's ultra grief so hot it's cold
like when sensations at the faucet are what
and when we nearly die or cry or
we are maybe almost laughing
but mouths are gone like earthworms
and we shift again
the earth us all and nothing
just beyond the shutter of the eye