The foot is disheveled. The armpit is the moon. And what lessons have the rain To letter at night alone without Legs or thoughts? What does it mean to be human When the heart and lungs are a marathon Of leaves? You cannot cross out the distance. Cup sorrow in your hands But to be abbreviated in this light Is life. If death cannot cull these questions At least the ice cream truck tonight rings A symphony for a fake piano In pencil in the night in a sky that cannot be seen.