It’s nothing. A blue wheel blurring, and a wind
catchless, clicking at a window’s high
startless framing—a fixed, transparent eye

This din and this condition. Thinking thief
who nicks and strips and skitters all away
as conscious night will dark a callow day

How do they get so close to the window,
a tree in figment, arithmetic moon?
Summer broke you, winter builds you—

In discord this incipience, disregard.
You are unhappy with the slant of the windows.
You eat an egg for breakfast, and are ungrateful.

Old wolf, I said,
leave a tatter
for my family:

The sea’s tedious soliloquies
drone and repeat
against the rinky-dink dock

Stoic mathematician,
efficient wizard,

I have no hands now
to touch or take.
I am all eye.

I lay cold beneath his coldness,
stiff in his stiff embrace.