In the tunnel
we undid our lessons
asking for no things
but for those which could be made
from metal, plaster

no owls in the catacombs
not a dry eye in the house
no sudden for the wintered

without the opened
box we shaped our mouths
like saucers
and amid the floss left by antlers
we sang to ourselves

I ask for nothing from you;
you knaved, inventing feathers