All perspective is is a dot 
you can plan on any page 
and then draw solid cubes so a house 
can hover above crayon spikes of grass.  
I am afraid. I have seen sheep puff 
like dandelions, 
some spotting blue as though thumbs 
pushed ink on their backs.  
Farmers spray dye on the rams 
so after rutting with ewes, 
the used ones are marked.  
The more a thing is investigated,  
the more it burns. Light on paper. 
A museum displays these photographs: 
Paganini’s ghost wearing a devil mask 
pushing down on his violin,  
and others, a serious girl,  
hair parting her skull in half.  
People show others how no one is  
still there—turning a cold doorknob. 
And how the more a thing is probed, 
the more it burns. O it burns. 
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