What more could we want than raised
veins & wrinkled drapery, freedom
to study whatever we want all
day long — Archaea & botany,
coding & cross-hatch stroked left
because we might be Leonardo
or otherwise nameless, someone
struck off the rolls, someone
turning into a tree, relegated
to might have beens, ushered to back rows
where catarrhs & reddened eyeballs
won’t be noticed, mired in catacombs —
let it be known — we are not bereft,
no, we are rife, fertile with marvelry.
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