Each unnecessary tribe is restless, fabric stressed
Against the moments frame, until it seems
That each part but reflects the whole, compressed
Until boundaries are merged with troubled dreams
Of vague borders amid the random air.
Where the new graves bloom, words flower in empty
Concession to each camera, aware
Of the distance between record and play.
Between distant land and voyeur's womb
Waves alone transmit identity, until
From each harvest an image may distil
The odour of words, the sound of the tomb.