"To do the delicate work of introducing
The pond-scum opsin into a brain cell,"
Place Orion behind the Vahalla massif.
No, I'm kidding. Not all of us memorized
"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"
In third grade at first sight. Some of us
Just got in trouble for being bewitched
By the heavy, sing-song rhythm as we read.
What is going on in the intricate nest
Of translucent neurons as a poem is read,
A sun is set, an imaginary
Constellation rises, looking back on itself?
I couldn't tell itself. Only the tips of waves
Wink in the ricocheting sunlight
From this angle at the end of the far,
Never-endingingly divisible north of souls.