As the season turns, and the trees consent, we too will release and renew.

Let our brittle obsessions glow and then fail, or be consumed by their own mechanisms.

Gather them not that they may speak for us of our pasts,

but that we may see ourselves among the fallen.

We will not negotiate for invented nobilities

amidst the truths of what we are.

We will dream instead of being carried away,

and so sometimes escape through the lines

into the countries of better maps.

The world is small,

the spin serene,

and the best ways are open.