Who wouldn't falter,
if captured by aliens,
and asked to enumerate
the many particulars
of our world? The list
would begin, and begin
every passing hour.
But we'd leave out such
details as this
bungee cord holding
the glass door open against the wind,
and the two, sun-bleached
plastic tulips beside
the scrawny, fluttering bougainvillea.
Or worse—remember only
those details of the catechism,
what it was like on our
low-walled rooftop,
and forget the castle beyond,
with its sword-sheathing angel,
and the street-vaults echoing with
laughter, and the circling,
approaching song of the cat's
first heat.