...and the dead came back to me when they'd heard I'd found it Ad Mortuous bystephanie pope
sitting on the rock sunning itself, a coiling unpinned
thing, a wing, burning and glowing
chorus growing in the water there on the rock like me
a loaded knot like me
unknotting suddenly and green; ascendant
in amphibian sing
coiling unpinned plopping down (like me)
betrayer, she (betrayed the rock)
my night of madness in a drop
forced back by death
and calling
surely some tremendum is at hand
a night of madness in a drop
teetered there and clung to stone
until what shook began to rock
in rocking splendor terribly the moan
through frogs and toads and tatter
garment torn; belittled and dismembered spot
smaller, weaker, harder to believe
raised itself still wet and shorn and dressed in wing (and of its own accord began to sing)
here is where is still the growing tree
her bright spot glazed in christic night
and in betrayer too, the wing eternal
danced das ding
O Sing! O shadow word (but just this once)
of that to which the lord of frog and toad relies
of that to which the dead return with rage and cries
the unperfected stillness
in the speech of man; O
shadow slur this speech
and stir
bright love
down 
wing 