content: Poem I wrote Over time, Chains become soft. Like wax, they bust from their permanent shapes, Like some shocking change of season Like rust in weather.   And so from a storm cloud to a man, From hooks to flowers He comes through time, Melts from the Wash ʷᵃˢʰ   ʷᵃˢʰ   ʷᵃˢʰ And I touch his canvas, Arm slick, the links fall and break And spring enters the room. Heil Him.