they really aren't pieces of any one quilt
regarding one person, say, quite content,
easily content, actually and entirely sure
that certain novel thoughts might be
the diverse scraps of one of us—
perhaps they can comprise us yet

comprehend the larger totality, dear
little value lies in discrete images seen
in a lambent world, contriving to enlarge you,
please you, as if that would interest anyone—
well, there might still be a few—in a strange art
borne far too long, too much of it in pieces