89.

Our whatever is an asymptote and not

It moves but never reaches, but does so

In ways that even we can observe.

And sometimes in our sleep we think we know

Better than we do, and, waking, we know

Even less. Catkins blow; dandelion seed

Sheds on the wind; fireflies flicker and flee

On the marsh. In love it is always spring

When it is not winter, and autumn

And summer expose that nonsense. Fools can

Love or try to, and we, fools in time,

Tumble, and, stumbling, we seek some axis.

Metaphors are like moonlight, and the sea is green

Even at night, the need of love embarrassing.