Accept the fulsome
As what is due,
Summing the silence
That does ensue.
Make ready a surprise,
Soothing, sedentary,
A peace that substitutes
For prideful revelry.
Demand no more unceasing new—
Novelty’s clipped crutch.
Linger in the scant moment
That need not promise much.
Tally up fourteen lines,
Drawing a map with crossing signs.
