Lost causes confound. Where are you, cousin, 
since you swung upside down the iron gate
outside school? The earth is your sky—correct 
me, was. I blame the missionaries. I blame
myself for getting the words below Annie Vallotton’s
fluent drawings. You drew blank. Swung and swung. 
The hinges, gnashing in my ears, wing out
her “maximum expression with a minimum 
of lines.” Impossible, but wait awhile.