Not easy to state the change you made. If I’m alive now, then I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it, Staying put according to habit. You didn’t just toe me an inch, no— Nor leave me to set my small bald eye Skyward again, without hope, of course, Of apprehending blueness, or stars. That wasn’t it. I slept, say: a snake Masked among black rocks as a black rock In the white hiatus of...