Whatever are those forms the anecdote is no longer
sight appears in privileged sense and thus the trap reappears

They prey on those rather ordinary facts, no symbolism
to remember each event remains another accomplished fact

The note of hope is astonishing, the simple gesture of holding
a kind of replacement product as if substance could have no form

Only the inattentive witness is dissolved into the effort of climbing
a less alarming approximation, the form a matter more palpable

Explanations are suddenly discovered in the play of joints and muscle
and a sense that what the real world will be is earth, pebble and ash

Better to camouflage the events in more paradox than iron and celluloid,
paradise as seen from a piece of the human scale that will remain

Theater is more probably a place of ineffable things
except for this one small detail, that they do not move even here

That a simple observation must be taken on violently,
a tiresome refrain amidst noble and harmonious discourse.