Reprise

I sit here on a broken cow, selling dandelions,
no bright burritos, a figment in the valley of snacks.

In the freshwater apartments and contracts
they are finding some spaces to fish in.

Some people just don't talk to each other.
Or what actually goes on in your mind?

I don't know that I'm ready for your meta-interior
gaze, your splendor of character tics. But the day's a nice wind,

night, bathing in your many lamps, consisting
of such complicated wonders, clouds

hard to see, but the story of returning always
getting us off, zooming

in this room, eating tomatoes, reading
off of computers, some figures in windows.