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A we-are-without-excuses crowd. A crowd. A trackedlight, my eyes stray. I tried to see many things: through the ice,the ice, the glass, my own limbus, a hairline scratch on the handsof everyone walking by. I tried to see dimmer stars than the

Star in the north, lay sick. Miraclework, humble muck, lay sick.Our oaths were in the winters. You kept our secretaviary, dropped tufts as bait. Little promises of little birds.Heaps of snapped-neck finches I didn’t know were dead.I set you up. I had a fever, saw it in your eye, the cataract, a flinch.Your eye mottled, your sclera messy, someone left fingerprints.I made a list of things for which I’d be willing to beg.