Once ruined snow ossified into the fish tank called vision a transformer switched and the silent waltzing couples left through shredded paper. Silken conversation swarming but cleft by the detritus and wingspan of accident and fission. Awhile pretending to care, pretending to mean it and care, to finish laughing with nothing, to diminish the air of seeing, the moth swimming in the blizzard. The status of being ashes, encased in weather. Turned over a bell, drowning there. The replica of a looking glass, suspended by kitestring and gleam on the sofa, down hills. I will be like a grown-up in an hour. The bee approached the house antenna, thinking it a flower. The fertilization of the machine and the ingenuity of a dream. To fall is to be everyday. I must listen to watch to be a human season. Pretending that a polish of the screen will glow through a field of clover, through a magic lamp, pretending to snow. The houses are dancing through looking, through dancing to see.