Imagine the wish of arms that surrounds you.

If it was both pathetic and marvelous
You'd dislike it,

You'd be uncertain about it--
Let a foot of snow fall on it,

Humble it,

Without skin.

Your fingers would ply absently in sting and misdials
East of your belly
And simple human truths would--without ceremony,

Gravitate to another.

Sheep drift peacefully across the field, and the yarn

Makes a pattern.