in parentheses

A chain of clouds like peaks so unreal, beneath a yellow moon who breathes a pale green and love is passing. Who sits on the river and breaks with the river and moves in pieces, up the town like streaks of fire on the lie and mountain or cloud all around and love is passing. Because not for you would I walk, not for this selfish giant. Wandering a word around his finger and loose chains from his bones breaking like ropes of sand and love is passing. From days made the minute and the hour another passing, night and yellow moon buffing pale green mountain or cloud and a wreck wrought from every heart’s flight, the rain the fog the town remains, silent waiting waiting the silent to remain and love is passing. Because not for you would I walk, not for this selfish giant.