II.
Much of our lives can't be verified, the
real abandoned from the imagined, stripped
of its bluff. Much of it plowed under,
shooed away. One night you dream you can
sing in five languages but in the morning
your native tongue is stooped, the simplest
words have deserted you and there is evidence
that your mouth was plundered, your tongue
scuffed and battered where someone has
picked the lock. Leaning against gravity
hyphenates motion, and it's not your voice
that breaks the falsetto. Conclusions are
sometimes harder to construe in broad daylight.