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                      (26.vi.20: surge)
    The birds being always with us leaned in. They

were back, a refrain, the aboutness of it all or of

  part of it, never not there since given beaks. We

                                                                                           looked

      out on exponentiality’s damage, a virus the

  would-be monarch’s crown, the erstwhile kingdom

    come back on by it, nescience maskless and afoot…

                                                                                                   The

  birds leaned in and sang with shrill Moroccan voices,

    an alpine strop sharpening knives. They concocted

a Meknes more sonorous than real, the real a mere bone

                                                                                                           of

        itself, their Malhun another real… We had gone to

    Meknes and been disappointed it wasn’t its music,

      music always an elsewhere, we were finding, wher-

  ever we went. We bore Nub everywhere we went, so

                                                                                                    in-

      fectious Europe turned us away, the light rain falling

                                                                                                        as

    well a re-

  frain