Night settles briskly as with feather duster
and rag under arm, determined to be not too civilized.
It seems the sky left us
hanging, long ago, and now wants us undetermined,
untried sheep nosing out of the mist.
Be thankful for all you haven't been, and could be
in a warier situation. For desk values. The shoehorn.
Our lives ebbing always toward the center,
the unframed portrait.
~ John Ashbery