The bird feeder pipes in, “Linked phrases run through the a’s, b’s, c’s so on, but a-phrases, again, often point to the composition (the kind I am).

B-wise, my creativity
is not wasted in remorse.
What I owe: I know
almost and almost lost,
unfinished, in everything. For the c’s
I looked over a scratchy plain
of dandelions, empiricism, clover:

Ah universality! It’s always your newness:

and I see your forms
as I fill in the questionnaire
putting my back into it.”