What I put for words astounds me in my new blackheartedness
as it would anyone. Then this same rhetoresis goes for broke
all over the kitchen floor. The cats are not amused but
winter has its inevitabilities. We can use the stammering
for toothpicks any time. I love you. You and your verbs
compare me to an open cage from which the wild has obscured
itself by leaving. So I love you for casting me in verbs
and propping me up. A signal. For the survivals to come.