(i) “there is no ebb — the face of the wave, rising, becomes a wall, and then the sky” — nothing of significance [so the boy whispers, descending spirals: tastes you on his skin, tastes secrets under the skin of the desire; eating red apples, green fruits from Chinatown + here the bonfire itself: all that will burn, aflame. bring into the garden, love, three lanterns — these nights grow cold. :- the sun has plowed; its gold, now buried deep, motions the becoming — you know, ear-pressed, its clamour [the vanity of under the furrows of Highbury Fields life] …