Floating in turtle blood, going backward and forward,

We wake up like a mad sea-urchin

On the bloody fields near the secret pass—

There the dead sleep in jars …

Or we go at night slowly into the tunnels of the tortoise’s claws,

Carrying chunks of the moon

To light the tunnels,

Listening for the sound of falling rocks.

Waking, we find ourselves in the tortoise’s beak,

As he carries us high over New Jersey!

Going swiftly through the darkness between the constellations …

The body becomes transparent as it flies!

We sail through space, falling, like a tear

Made of crystal that gathers in the moonlight …