In interiors by night-light, and by our own
admission, we levitate.
It is our birthright. Suppose the cargo was brought
for our welfare: a kind
of instruction toward ill, produce
we could not afford.
An attempt to recover the economy
of youth,
thoughts about the climate and the waste
of our prose.
There were trees the storm had reserved,
fathers unmannered at the effort.
Our theater confused the gods.
We observed the trees. We never knew the fluttering
made them distinct.
