Who, having received cruel honoraria, extended a limp hand, extended the daybreak in the ballroom's shadowed recesses, where covenants dull and wine piques, where tawdry loiterers insist and revile, perhaps did not extend a hand so much as raise it before her, as perch it on the air, to say I can twirl in my badges, to say what respite's in regret, what seethes with the dawn. Unaided by night to repeat nevertheless, A blue hanger swings on the lowest branch.
Light waves reach the retina, and only particular wavelengths.
Hue, shape, height, depth. So much seeming is certainty.