Thus open up the sky this night
And bid your dreams, a last hurrah,
Take countenance in this way of things
Where secret thoughts are laid out ruddy bare,
For those who pick and claw at notions such as these.
We are but mortal cages
Who, having trapped a passing ghost
Resuscitate, and so convincing Heaven that
We are not those empty shells
But dancing japes whose godless slivers
Will pin us to this earth.
bobby stevenson 2017