The pool is empty; no bathers stand nearby.
The beast must be glorified and so each bristle stands out
on its raised, humped back.
The pool must be glorified and so each aquamarine tile glistens, having
been scrubbed, before the photograph was taken,
with bleach.
It is the perpetual today, that which has historians running
through empty fields in white coats,
taking the pulse of the world . . .
The beast breathes silently, exhaling steam from its nostrils.
The crowd maintains its distance and its composure:
how like a crowd.
The beast maintains its beastliness: how like a beast. That which
is wild will remain wild.
The last doctrine is that of redistribution of matter.
The last item is a stick, and, at the end of the stick,
a soul.
