My listening is brittle but I know that You saw the smallest things: I couldn’t see one leaf. I grew them in my head and burned them down. A lord. With you I became small so I could dive into your glass. Do backstroke. You tended us small things. To balance on a spoon, to wear lungs on our back, to center on a pinpoint deep inside while falling from great lengths. After you left, we did that.
If the uncaused cause were to touch me, if the cold stars were to be in my blood, if in my mind were the small but essential pieces of everything, then this all here is forever.