Moon fingers laugh with remarkable lucidity
but weep when the rains of April come.
Wrap me in spheres of calcium, flowing fast.
I will not cling to thin vibrating barriers.

Memories implode through convoluted pathways
(forget me not, but ring around the rosy) – what
folly, what fun – yet, if I may, must I repeat
myself (girdled in shame) as you demand?