A forelight’s radiation (seeing them after you echoes your forgiveness)

In the comfortable bed it draws from the room’s share of nature

A year from now or less than

In the crane of my neck it thinks itself and others

New configurations reduplicate the old, the descending hints of sun

Tears in canvaslight they could feel each other up by the rims of their fine shoes

Their thing about discretion, its backseat of regret

Time is a gossamer thread left in its truer sense untouched

The needlework fields its endings

The wish, lodged in miscommunication, if unknown to you, is reasonable now