Remember when you were a child, and had imaginary friends and an imaginary world–gave names to things and they were so, gave reasons for things and they were worthy? Yeah, Salamun remembers that, too–and captures it in a way that makes all people seem similar, in the most comforting way. And even, all living things–all masses–oddly connected. It seems like sometimes people forget that they’re animals: we are. This is so full of creatures: doves and ants, sardines and newts and crocodiles. And imaginary things, of course. I opened the fig and in it / squatted an angel, bound with his own hair. There are lots of eyelashes–which is to say, why don’t we notice tiny fallen symbols more often? Why do we live such orderly lives? Greatness is usually going on all around us: we’re wrong a lot, thank god. Sometimes I think I have wooden marrow. / Mistake! I only have red shoes. Sometimes, most of the time, what we’re daydreaming about is so much more important than what we’re sticking to in life. We should be less numb; we should be more like panthers.