is a bright river, clear and deep, flowing over smooth yellow stones
3: Poem can be read backwards and mean the same thing
2: Poem is not always a poem and pools by dark rocks
1: Response is a dusty riverbed with little or no stones
There are no philosophical truths, no
truisms—only rubrics. Dawn and dusk being the interpoles of languishment.
When one mistakes a Great Horned Owl for the sounding of his bird clock,
we have a rubric. When one chooses a counter-top cleanser based on the
content of its natural orange additive, we have a rubric. When one circumvents
the parallax of his/her own tidal ubiquity, we have a rubric. The forest
moves in a rubric; the meadow too.