but that they do not make me wonder
may be less them and more my present.
I could launch into construction
and make their motives pornographic
– surely all cars can play undercover
cauldrons – and surely millions
of microorganisms have by now
spawned intricate, invisible
civilizations all over
the curtain’s sea green and sleepy
blue zigzags. When we resided
in a city far from my midwestern
nativity, cars and trucks were works
of art and neither side needed to work
hard at it. New priority is
easygoing whimsy reclamation.