And so my expansion comes in circles. The rings around this township. The county that calls my waistband. You can't fathom some speedos. You and I are like in this matter. No cosmic dispersal. A door to the fight in all of us. There is no need to bear the bells, our country hears what song. Oh, how. Our country taps it out. Fits the valves. Fills the tape and spit. I've hit upon a kind of happiness. I've hit a round edged number and it rings. The register keys are springy. The register itself holds names. None for us it says in numbers. None for this here gathering. None in drawings or in drawers. None with luck or full of champagne.