During the sixth your resolve seemed less sure of itself and
You divided and succumbed with mathematical abandon.
From the fifth we surrounded you with our hands extended
And opened and though we dared not touch you, it drew you
Away from the fourth which had so little stir to it, too little
To make much of, no more for later, it wasn’t a waver, not
Like the third that convulsed, bucked and kicked us over
Into where we were dizzy and blistered and beginning to
Beckon you in pleads, we pleaded though we pleaded for
Nothing for there was no second wind, no plans to start
Over, no indications you intended to rethink your whole
Trajectory, no sudden reversals, no taking back what you
Seemed determined to accomplish, you began the equation
Deep from invisible interiors we are unable to access.