VII. C'est en forgeant qu'on devient forgeron

VII. C'est en forgeant qu'on devient forgeron

Clearest memory of Shel, is a held door, toward the cut headfasts for Cape Horn—
A terminal aperture that slices the hand on the doorplate—On or after synchronous
Brain waves dwelling on the natal moon phase, Mars combust barring Orlando’s
Facile mock-up in an enclosed forest, a day beyond Thursday, October 11, 1928, and the text’s
Final words—Twelfth stroke of once again Love’s winged wheel’s banded sphinxes, into gneiss
Walls as stalks from Karl Blossfeldt’s Urformen der Kunst (1928) for architects—Up to our necks in Zumthor’s

Therme Vals (1996), on which is written, “Artemis/Diana”, “Mikvah,” “Spring,”—Stifled by expectation, Zumthor’s
Continuously moving spaces of native Pfyn peat bogs, in the Grey Leagues of Chur; at the horn-shaped
Source of the Rhine until Lake Constance—Chur, of the chemist's commemorating Giacometti’s deathplace; if metamorphic gneiss,
Gneist, is to spark, then by glint of a chrome-wheel pharmacy cart yielding The Chariot (1950)—Synchrony
Of our parallel computing should indicate otherwise, then being too shambling to fit shin armor, as the former Lady Orlando
Appearing before chancery for death;  my wheels have spun, from 19.1—A man riding high on Fortune's wheel / cannot tell who really loves him—Ariosto’s text

Goes unfinished for sixteen years (1516-32)—Sixteen years, his wife took up fairer quarters, Giacometti refused to vacate the hole on rue Hippolyte-Maindron—As the flushed text
Suggests, by the worked over crayon, latent positions of active sweat pores, as Blossfeldt awakens us to the golden sections of foliage, as Zumthor’s
Bruder Klaus (2007), and model of the floor cast in lead, housed by 120 concrete-cast tree trunks—Written there; maintained, Orlando’s
Innocence, simplicity, were all the more dear to her for the dark background she set them against—With their horn
Pommels of canes, clay and diamond souls who walk the floor with Giacometti's stride—Fading before us into the hot spring’s gneiss
Surround, and mural of a sky, and where we will share the single bench, before the chapel’s pool for an altar—Ultraluminous x-rays synchronized

From a fossil star (2014) to forget how appearances are synchronized
By the coarsest materials—Giacometti’s unpaired Homme signalant (1947), whose bronze forged on wet plaster is begun at midnight two decades after he stirred his wheelbarrow to Paris (1927)—Through these radials of texts,
Narbonne Cathedral, to complete meant to defeat the city wall, lies hemmed by cupidity and old flames hawking tallow candlesticks, above perched castles on gneiss
Of Montagne Noire—Waves purled as on the pilings from Marmara, where Leonardo da Vinci’s parabolic bridge (1501) laid dormant until our time—Zumthor
Places the Kolumba Museum onto its Gothic ruins brick perforations stir with light (2003–07)—Orlando,
Lucidly dreamt she bore a son Thursday, March 20th, as from a kingfisher’s marine nest, from The Oak Tree's Blue, like a match struck right in the ball of the innermost eye—Reaches beyond applied layers of horn

Or oyster-shell finish concealing Meret Oppenheim’s The Ear of Giacometti (1933)—Making out every contour, pierces as the horn
Of the ibex—Nothing as far-fetched, where sprays of asphodel, blue asters and artichokes in Blossfeldt’s monochrome, but cause for incipient synchrony—
St. Benedict Chapel (1988); clad between partitions of blue and green, from Klee, from the Bauhaus, the walking line’s ceiling of stave bearings, or the belly of a whale—Orlando,
Enitharmon at her wheel dreaming Milton and expansive space, in advance of conjoining Los, or Loss of Time; from copperplates, nine texts
Blake referred to as nights (1797)—From an earlier plate, Hecate is deaf to the seven trumpets grazing a Poitou jack (1795) in a gneiss
Setting upturning garnets—Crossroads deities flourished in the 4th century, of abutting Celtic and Roman settlements at Chur for Zumthor’s

Protective Housing for Roman Excavation at Curia (1985-86)—Resorting to Zumthor's
Suppression of antagonists to the present; a lack of peroration in the elements about us—Making the face’s horn
Topography flatten like a sheet, Giacometti’s Tête qui regarde (1929)—Blossfeldt’s magnifications; just as the fence’s blaze of Virginia Creeper is approached by a deer’s crown where wire netting had caught, the banded gneiss
Outcropping that foiled my spade, for the first of seven editions—Recalling that day, so long ago, the porpoise at the fishmonger’s was a frilled shark, and the unforeseen synchrony
An inch of silver—six words—in the bottom of the net—Stares of mutual timidity and audacity that while the body wheeled about galleries, Orlando
Houses six gill arches, the seventh, the faintest, between our doubled faces of Love, to be dispersed as six copies of The Chariot (1950) prefigured in our texts—

Zumthor is still working out the lineaments—Smaller than Giacometti saw them, of the look sculpted as gestural drawing, and intertextualized
Today, from the oldest Swiss settlement, Chur, where seldom avalanches excavate the odd Pfenning—The synchrony of metamorphic gneiss
Prevents it, and melts all who came before, calcined shells, horn, into the renewed mitotic layer from where our foliated biography of Orlando reverberates, and today is nonetheless felt—