After a night spent high above the roof,
I descend with a revised system for civilization.
Those cold, distant mountains?
They’re not why we’re here.
I did learn something from the old ideas:
that plants, animals, and humanity
are the boundaries of sense, that it’s okay
to draw stars and hoist anchors on Sundays,
or hang in the sky like a cloud of volcanic ash.
But now I know of more cathedral things:
that angels wrap their wings in vintage swimsuits,
that monarchs are best seen from the tops
of trees and, of gingkoes, that their last leaves
leave before the last light leaves.
I’m stupid, right, or maybe even sick?
Is that what you want?
I’d be happy to give it another look.
In the end, it’s good if everything seems wrong.
I’m dying, you see, while gesturing toward the beach.
I’ve given you everything. Now enter.