Upper World

    If sadness

    is akin to patience，

    we're back！

    Pattern recognition

    was our first response

    to loneliness.

    Here and there were like

    one place.

    But we need to triangulate，

    find someone to show.

    There's a jolt， quasi-electric，

    when one of our myths

    reverts to abstraction.

    Now we all know

    every name's Eurydice，

    briefly returned

    from blankness

    and the way back

    won't bear scrutiny.

    High voices

    over rapid-pulsing synthesizers

    intone， "without you" ——

    which is soothing.

    We prefer meta-significance：

    the way the clouds exchange

    white scraps

    in glory.

    No more wishes.

    No more bungalows

    behind car-washes

    painted the color of

    swimming pools