"Oh, how we love the glow of holy gold!"
They curled, cavorting in the evening sun .
"Oh, but centuries have passed since the rage

I said something nonsensical to them
and they mocked back, "but we're your one design,"
or "you're our one design"—which was it?

As if encarmined tulips opened
with a sudden pop like that of a toy pistol
morning surprises you again,

As in an old memoir, the rhododendrons were over.
Hunger persisted, and the light was weak—
the light of music and books, the light paintings cast

Each year the monuments grew larger.
The citizens demanded this.
As their lives got worse they wanted

Only the dead don’t know
what heaven’s like. For the rest
extrapolation is possible.

In the turbulent career of the patriarch Photius
there can have been few days more glorious
than Saturday March 29th 867.
It was on this day that he delivered his seventeenth sermon.

The same ideas or different ones condense,
and you don’t have to sleep again.
Garbage is necessary. That’s another issue

In sooth, I come here sadly, 
not trembling, not against my will, 
hoping you will set the record straight.

We talked about the great error
that you can live with
and really can’t afford to get.