At furst it was as though you had passed,

But then no, I said, he is still here.

Forehead refreshed. A light is kindled. And

Another. But no I said

Nothing in this wide berth of lights like weeds

Stays to listen. Doubled up, fun is inside,

The lair a surface compact with the night.

It needs only one intervention,

A stitch, two, three, and then you see

How it is all false equation planted with

Enchanting blue shrubbery on each terrace

That night produces, and they are backing up.

How easily we could spell if we could follow,

Like thread looped through the eye of a needle,

The grooves of light. It resists. But we stay behind, among them,

The injured, the adored.