Lovers of obsolete industrial zones, here are moon-laden winds. ?Are those words banished from your heart. Thoughts’ fresh salmons return to vanished springs. Gush forth, wind; Crush, eyelids. Here’s the bare garden of new thoughts where whatever strikes at established dreams is to be built. Here’s the rainbow-hammock where weariness can rest while rise around us the walls of children’s castles. Pink salmon ladder, staircases for girls in white dresses. Here are lone star-sheets on which to shift tired ideas, where, with their sisters, they can check food remains. ?Are those words banished from your heart. Then love the realm of our dreams, lovers of ephemerous phalanxes.