Obviously I’m tied up
Between two mirrors facing each other:
My handler—
Overlap
(Who would not burn
With the ineffectual menace of a storm outside
When he is hid?)
Everything is far away:
Those makeshift sails of thunder,
Telemetrically mine,
Have almost rescinded their ardor,
Their hand
To pry me forward, shake me
Onto other custodies,
And the enactment of a spring
Never mine…
