In interiors by night-light, and by our own
      admission, we levitate.

It is our birthright. Suppose the cargo was brought
      for our welfare: a kind

of instruction toward ill, produce
      we could not afford.

An attempt to recover the economy
      of youth,

thoughts about the climate and the waste
      of our prose.

There were trees the storm had reserved,
      fathers unmannered at the effort.

Our theater confused the gods.

We observed the trees. We never knew the fluttering
      made them distinct.