Cappelbaum wept. When he awoke,
All that remained was sign in ceiling
Inscribed—hand snarling at air.
It meant to say (though could
Neither hear nor comprehend)
That to love is to create.
Unlike this beast, he was not impelled
By medley of smells in trashcan.
Instead, Cappelbaum observed
Decisive moment, her many turns,
Just long enough for posterity
To consider this brown donnée
Followed by civil obsequy,
Then back to house for breakfast! Breakfast!
Cappelbaum wept. He addressed
Wolf of his dreams, "Did love not prompt you
To build dwelling for bones?"
It was day when they left,
Followed by force of habit.
On his way, Cappelbaum sighted arcs,
Atop his paper pile noted
Entrails on trowels,
Humanity received secondhand.
On his way back to house, trees
Hiked up their skirts, birds flounced their song's
Dual desire; nothing doing.
Cappelbaum sat down,
(Having been given his proof).