Trouble fell weeping at the sight of
paved-over love. Distinctions that hold branches apart against
sky, seeing it through lenses or even the eye if round. The final
heat of a negative drifting off the road, inside outside. I fell
I snowed I conjured into not. Fixed annoyance, detailed love.
Sinkers, undesperate, are always the last donut. And this once
pair, a final spelling in figments of polish, of door.