The samurai telephones in the dark,
she says the night broke in her head
and there is no valley anymore
between inside and out,
There is no river down which to float,
from the place of words
or the other pleasures,
She says there is nowhere to go,
that she is the stone
of the departed flow
and it really is that much, that cold,
the pressure of light that makes
so much dark the purpose,
She writes me a letter before it is over
and this is the boat that would sink
with our swords.