I guess it was from fairy tales I learned
a puissant immortality, and then discerned
the words involved were lovelier than blocks
and equally oblivious of clocks.

when the facts of birth were straightened out
in time to know what life was all about,
I assumed, though saying nothing indiscreet,
that I was more or less complete.

now those old volumes of my aping trust
reveal provisos I never had discussed,
tracing an acquired taste for dust.

if I rightly understand the way it goes:
as naturally as looking out on winter snows,
I wind up wearing bones for clothes.


[roll over, Fra Giovanni]