A fictive covering Weaves always glistening from the heart and mind. - Wallace Stevens

A dead shepherd brought tremendous chords from hell<p>And bad the sheep carouse. Or so they said. Children in love with them brought early flowers And scattered them about, no two alike.

We are the mimics. Clouds are pedagogues.

Struggling toward impassioned choirs, Crying among the clouds, enraged By gold antagonists in air — I know my lazy, leaden twang Is like the reason in a storm; And yet it brings the storm to bear. I twang it out and leave it there.