There'd be surprising things in poems. We'd grin politely. Secretly
rise up in mist. Evaporate nicely. Go on.
Didn't you think I'd notice how you loved our new city. Sleepily. Gone
through towers to meadows to time. Not time.
More complicated conditions in this refurbished independence. I'm
found. Under a local bridge. Surprised. And by.
My incapacities go on. You'll drop by with or without pasta. We'll eat
from the bottom. And seriously. How wasn't I.
Could this be what Thanking arranges. A pleasant continuation. Some for
drinks some substance going on. Some How.