I Want For Those Who carry my burdens,

To look around. You are not here,

The birth, the young, the rich, the fop,

The man, the hearse, the town,

Non dear to me.

Air serves with breath.

Objects call and give shape.

Light me in paths by unseen existences dear to me.

Walks the edges!

Window-pierced entrances.

Whose transparent shells might expose