True to Form
© Beth Roberts	Every eve the tilt back of the head to cloud sunsettling thought, shh, aim to be true. The cap of one's personal evening. What do you put on and what retract to get that blue: mistress distress, the newest shade, something will be made of that, a sky . . . What would you do to disguise your hunch, what discover. What process of illumination to undress, which piety, whose starry eye . . .