Open a small agriculture
in your head      Plant

in rows      leaving one corner
wild      You will not

control the rain      the sun
When pressure rises     sit


And so you see it could have been without, might have been all one line, one sentence, agriculture in your head and then straight on without a breath, with just that small dot between, and on in a boxy shape and that would have made it different, no breaks but commas, no playing with those words, plant hanging on and leading to the rows, the corner on the edge, the words below rises dropping away, and that dreaming off to the side as if really, as if really. It could have been, is possible too in prose, ambiguity, but bounded, but would have, for me, lost gaps, lost space, lost its shapefulness on that page you have in front of you, made too much sense, there is such a thing, oh yes, although I have found ways to do oddness without, in like this squared off, but with this one I want you inside it, want you slipped between plant and rows, want you to wander from sit to dreaming. There. It’s you. Right there.