I stretch myself thin over the streets where it and I am anonymous
and buildings are wretched tree-skirts and people going toward the light under their hair.

My knees! Your knees! How beautiful they carry me endlessly over myself
through the streets. Guilt, four hundred crowns stacked neat on a cornered head, it tries. What kind of vision is this? The crowns weigh and jingle.
Lillian wins a new crown every time I say her name on earth. I’m told
what makes me go further is habit. What makes me go further? The feeling
of friendship?

To have a curl of her hair near my hand! To have his company turning in this song! It is comforting to know I can laugh so easily, then to finally be the single shape in my tower. My tower! Three blocks from the hot foreheads of so many nightly ghosts! I vanish perfectly and so do all my companions