To make the sound of pity, he rakes his hair
with a pine branch; he freezes
To evoke spite, he smashes two patches of corduroy together
in a wood
without a soul in sight.
To simulate folly, he rustles a boa of tape yanked
from a cassette around his shoulders; he gives up
So what about silence, he asks, waggling a rubber hammer.
For fear, he mounts two live flies onto a photo of the ocean.
He is writing a manual in which nearness
wields a long pair of scissors.
To bring to mind love, he smiles
till it hurts; he can’t stop