Sight, Slight, Surfeit

Poetry for prowess: let me number the days

before sight takes hold, before light makes ways

into this matter of import, exporting the folds

of this ladder constructed of beauty, behold

as quatrains will ship, car goes to planes

not yet tangible, frangible only in panes

to be cliqued, dipped, swollen and spit

into that fray, organization came then went

just long enough to incite the movement:

slight as it seems, our bulging surfeit.