In our heart of hearts, lord, we’re wading out to meta-trigonometries ..  
I’m wanting respect, witness to a natural moon shining  
its belle-lettrist metamorphoses, moving sweet points  
over the slip, damning loose ends even with fairer aspects, so great a duty  
but giving wind sheer every opportunity  
.. to let us go. On.  
Up. Now. 
Prove me yours.