Imagine these are lucky ones,
echoing things--things?--

swathed in unfolding, in confounding when
all other floating

heretofore
is giving, not collecting,
launching or living or
best, the private blind-side that always

comes clean
without prompting.

For a guy like you
sweetness follows

and then tags along
the ankles like, yup,
a pup. We know
what is
by what was
a little longer:
the act, the scene, the gesture
before
they rise, rise, rise
to salute the better shadow.