Up, up it rises,

the penumbra,

for all to see.

Heaven is open—

make no mistake.

That row of books

just slid over by itself,

and a guy, a tubby guy,

came to look at it, sneer,

snicker, be off again-only,

ouch! There are other strands

in that equation, he sees now, not

too late. The green spoilage,

all other things being equal,

may be contained.

Only wear your shirt right.

Wash it again

and yet again.

The bear is still around

whose hide you sold,

wondering why children fear him.

Is it too much to ask

safe conduct, yes, for him too

the travesty of night

we all must wear

for awhile?