All the ivy ever cannot
cover what you see
in peekaboo. The great fly-by-
nights, Satan and his fold,
hoot in great swoops
announcing what you glimpse
as more of a problem than
a few ex-mammals cruising
tonight's skies.
Like an electric alarm
out of you a chirp dits its way into
Hello. Science says nothing's lost,
then it hedges.
The hedges, as square
as the capital letters important
books begin with, screen
the neighbor but not
his feet-could shoes do,
the part for whole, each
for Each?
You'd rather see
more clouds or dawn,
a length of snake
as hose, not Other.
An otter in the gutter.
Not one bad neighbor.
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