I learn like a ball joint, swivel towards the moon,
the mirror, where beliefs unfurl and bloom a silver face.
I am trying to learn to learn what matters
to believe like a moon, like a prince.

In the night sky, truths tangle and release, truths jiggle
and grow fat in the wire like vibrations
after the stroke of a cello bow.
They're cute--they stand for something
the way children's cuticles, half-moons, do.

Here's where everything said begins to sound enchanting.
I believe I see I see:
mirror-like moon, petals like metal
mountains like my mind and the wing's natural applause
a moth flutters one with joy
towards the moon's reflection in the brimming river,
developing its own strategy.