17 July 2004. The revision (final, I hope) of the Poem poem I started as an imitation of a poem by Jorie Graham and posted two or three versions of here:

                   Poem as Pythagorus, Almost

                   Somewhere in his thoughts' unfiled rain,
                   far from the city encumbering him,
                   Poem is wondering whether there is a name in long division
                   for the product of the divisor and sunlight.

                   Beyond the dividend, beyond how, he remembers:
                   spring is.

                   Five places beyond the decimal point, among
                   honeybees, he strides now--a Pythagorus almost.
                   Definitely no minion or administrator,
                   who adroitly evades the drowse toward 
                   the untaught sunlight,
                   the formaldehyde on low, the moon
                   unlawfully naming
                   stones and stones and stones
                   into audible
                   affirmations.

                   Poem understands without.

                   He understands where random dapplings
                   release Civilization,
                   its lamentation never his,
                   regardless of the sun's owner, the sun's ownership.