A presence at a border draws / the arm of the light
scarlet or not, shelter or none, / centriole and silk filament,
eight rabbits in reins settle their / cottontail feet in the molasses earth / and begin their whimsical dancing
how many / times must I be broken and reassembled!
The air was a season they had bought…
What is the love that can follow this word?
I never learned to fix anything