When paying attention to monarchs I run across babes among cosmoi on gangly tractors. 
Pigeons pattern heaven where detachment was cut back,   

Reminding us of a few contingencies we picked up off trays,  
Bright boomerangs that tantalize in the feasible, wanting nothing and showing  
What go around and come around, left to their own desires and systems.   
 
And some of these babes are both dead and alive. Chew on that, Hobbes.