all so meaningless
these vegetables in the grass
rowed and timed

yet for each I am
yet that is All
no lyric, media, culture
is a mechanic of meaning
so part of memory and eye
like the hoard back home

in an upholstered cave
so deep of earth
thinking rock thinking best
while we reckon the stars

is it our way
is it theirs
is a choice real

our time wavescope
the ear its hairs our lines
to the room inside
where silence should rain
then a single lamp to pull