Depends on what dwindles         (it all it all)           depends on the 
assemblage how we move each other       (we are people we are 
strangers)          I don't want to know what that means. Some acts 
extinguish the dream                   (suitcases and shadow-plats and 
trotting eyes in heads)          Beauty comes before we are familiar 
with it and less after              (delight in anything that can move us 
from our spaces)                   sorely depending on light's fury. Your 
body is a place       (sometimes a thousand places)       depending 
on how it's sold, bought. I could love a man         who never loved 
me back so long as he has a map                 (maps last a long time 
longer than we're lasting)            The future is political           (it is a 
naked girl)             we wait to let it thrill us but it never comes. The 
dream is a free machine       (the lever is one-winged)        if we fly 
out we will dwindle.          And for all that glowed and all we knew 
then             (we wanted each word to contain fading)             from 
across the cement we illuminate our history just     to see where it 
starts (and where it went).