The entrance to the universe       Contains a secret
Copse of sycamores       The poet says
Pallid-voiced       In my dream       It’s
Technically       My line
Not his       Can you
See the scene       Thick shadows       Anchored

In and against       As I am anchor
And arrow       Feeling secret
Strong       Shoulder carrying       You
Bicker       Who is taller       Someone says
It’s not a competition       Follow a line
Of usage       Is it

Quality or goal       A silkworm eats its
Tent of mulberry leaves       Anchors
On a stem       Poops lining
The plastic box       My secret
Goals       Prose and baths       They say
Difficult       How old were you

When you realized       What you
Wanted       Wouldn’t come       It’s
The aim       Potty talk       Saying
A dirty word        And unanchoring
Dinnertime       Your work is       Less secretive
Now       You say       Eyes lined

As        Standing in line
A woman asks       Is she your
Mama or grandma       Let’s secret
That       Until it’s
Away       The fourth needle       Anchors
Me to table       Birds say

Gossip song       Squares of light        Say
You are trying       To free the book       From lines
In cribs       In memory       Are events anchored
To a year       Or to your
Age       I shove you       We’re gonna        Make it
We can see it       Now       A stupid       Secret

Blue       Anchoring what       We’re gonna make it
No secrets       We’re gonna make it       I wanted a line
To glance       We’re gonna make it       I have forgotten you
               You’ve forgotten me       We’re all gonna make it