The heritage of angels.

So what is it?

Is it the distress of form,
Or the dilution of color?

Is it less than the neat grass knots I tied and hair-parts which
Have gone through great lengths to be
Puzzled for, and looked upon?

I think it's a cloud of yarn.  I think it's an impressive cat--
And not human at all.

I mean, look, there are its teeth, and too, its sharp, peach-lidded eyes.

But what else.

Because something determinate must address our misfortunes with
The future.