Touch it: it won't shrivel like an eyeball,
This egg-molded bailiwick, clear as a tear.
Here's yesterday, a year ago -
Palm-lance and lily unmistakable as vegetation in the tremendous
Windless crochet of an embroidered artwork.
Flick the glass with your fingernail:
It will ping like a Chinese toll in the smallest air mix
In spite of the fact that no one in there turns upward or tries to reply.
The tenants are light as plug,
Each one of them for all time occupied.
At their feet, the ocean waves bow in single document.
Never trespassing in terrible temper:
Slowing down in midair,
Short-reined, pawing like paradeground stallions.
Overhead, the mists sit decorated and favor
