it's never the net.
it's always

" the box "

we stop.
we throb lobbing red breast robins
inna box, over double rainbows.
we lost
what the nail
had no art to crucify -
and we lie -
on a tarmac of truth, our err planes depart dark waters
for black
skies !
and it's not
You Yet...
only half as
wide...

only that.