I don’t like this title Con/Jur/d, 4/10/2021 When I started this poem, my brain was teeming, hungry ghosts and language parasites, although I wrote, “How shocking the daffodil’s yellow,” I didn’t mean it. Nor did I mean, “The boundaries of of the vast, Unknown Country.” The place those surfaces come from too shallow. If I was to dip, the toe of my shoe in the pond where we retain those images, just like, the woman who walked by my window, fixing her hair walks__________________out of frame, shimmers, ripples and is gone better to pull from here, with You. See? What would you name it? That’s better.