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August 26, 2002
Looking Through Glass (continued)
on sunny days i dream
that i were made of herring bones
and sealing wax
with an external coat of cream
and the hollow knocks
of tortoiseshells
and the muffled thwocks
of cabbages
resound slowly down the stream

on quiet days i hold court
with popes and princes
and kings
entertaining fine notions
about why the ocean
dances less greenly
and why the sea
sings less bluely
and other such nautical things

and the rhythm
of gloves
on desktops goes
knock pound knock
and the rhythm of planes
and jets
on clouds of green goes
roar