Egress glitch: emergence into a visible,

               tangible air, draped and parting, mauve

               crepe; hills shimmy, mounds of gelatin;

               lungs fill from wringing hands together;

               bearings found only by shredding maps,

               placing those pieces over eyes. How

               can fish thrive among green branches? 

               What can the squirrel want in

               that blue pond? Terror, until terror

               fades. There  —  a city of crazy

               tents made from paper remnants. And

               there — children sit, speak to each

               other, tell stories, not by turning,

               not by fixing eyes or mouths — 

               but by listening, looking outward at

               evening sky. To fight for Beauty,

               amongst Beauty. Truth is farther, but

               in the same line. And in

               their words, the life of the

               one speaking goes out against that

               sky, becomes visible against that great

               screen — and the listeners’ lives go

               out to meet those words. And

               when telling is done, commingled lives

                    come back, all into each.