by Leon Fedolfi

I am one hour too old to hear what it is they are saying.

Form is formed, and this group has many eyes, limbs, and excuses for being one.

 

Pam is a name. That name has a body and gender.

She told a story. The story is IF. If I had done this,

I would have been different.

 

She strides in my imagination.

 

Sounds and colors paint — all the world

by her invocation.

 

In the evening dispersion, a feeling of alien.