"I will empty out my jacket pockets": pockets and more pockets within more and more pockets, a pair of lungs no sooner exhaling their fill of clouds than breathing every bit of cloud all in again. Thus I help myself to myself again--heaps of myself--for I can end the fast when I choose and do--though the fast is a fastening onto what holds fast, you inspiring, me expiring, a kind of symmetry I walk around in all day, breathing in and out, seeing in and out. My eyes convince me of myself and I forget. All day long I forget and have to be reminded. For before me are the clouds and I am taking them in saying look what I made, look.
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