Spurred as they are
by spectra
past our kenning,
hollow bodies aimed
by the thrumming
ultraviolet,
have no feeling
for our borders—
just as
that sadness
which arises absurdly
and flits among us
damned to tread cement
and dirt and grass
will alight and persist
long past its
advantage, having no sense
of terminus—
and no respect
for facts.
