He is packing sheets in his sleep.
His hands are knots!
He is working his way
Through vats of slaughtered sheep
To the bright side of the zoo
Where animals in heat
Elect the freedom ticket
With their toes and teeth.
Here bottles never bottom, shills depart,
And lovers never waste their time
With dollar bills or traffic lights.
Even their most violent movements
Resemble the shape of your body
Close to mine. Otherwise, the air
Is almost empty there, as clear
As the light in which the prophet
Saw the word he heard within
And called them to eternal life.