Poem, after a Long


     Poem returns, and returns.    He takes stock somewhere in

     his thoughts' unfiled rain.

     What long-lost palace is the sun the quotient of?

     Trigonometrically,

     the pretext, "although," postpones his blood.

     Beyond the dividend, beyond how, Poem remembers:

     spring is.  Therefore, can anything--the ancient Egyptians--

     truly compartmentalize possibility?

     Poem returns, and returns, and returns.          

     Slow Aztecs                 slow remainders               

     disconnectedness and arrestedness

     formalize the sine concern           

     it's been                     so long                                  so (long) as              

     as it makes.

     Is there a name in long division for the product of the divisor and sunlight?

     Poem understands without.         He understands where the glide of a canoe,

     the abiding "although," the wrench and plumb, release Civilization.      

     The lamentation is never his,

     regardless of the sun's owner, the sun's ownership.

     Five places beyond the decimal point, excellence, he strides--Pythagorus almost.

     Honeybees momentarily also although.                       

     Rude missionaries of jazz, they--none minions or administrators,

     deftly evading the felt concept,

     the drowse toward 

               the untaught sunlight,

     the formaldehyde on low, the moon

     unlawfully naming

     a long,  

     so long

     as