[But isn’t midnight intermittent]

But isn’t midnight intermittent Or was that just a whispered nine A snap of blown light low against the flank of a cow A likeness of something numberless that only I not knowing the sound might know It may have been howled by a circling dog being chastised — threatened — by multiples of itself in pursuit of the consolation of knowing that everything is real It was real I don’t mean midnight — despite horizon, nipple, and fissure I don’t mean And yet I do — mean, I mean A cowering animal woven real flickers please pull over Kierkegaard Kierkegaard says knowledge precedes every act but surely there are acts that are not preceded by knowledge. Repetitions pass at the door from summer to winter. Some slowly. Some quickly. Total strangers. Never saw them before. Can’t picture them now. Umbrellas — strange totalities — upheld, wheeling.