Imprinting the previously
 Unprinted woods, a philosopher breaks
 The thin fibers of a spider's web.
 Spinney club moss
 Carpets the understory
 Of the ancient forest.
 Ferns unfurl
 To their fullest. White trillium
 And pink lady slippers embody a scent
 Of abstract perfume. The philospher reaches the last
 Wooden plank laid across mud by a human hand.
 Rotten wood sinks. The philospher leaps
 Into the applause
 Of a forest of gloves.

 Condemn the chair to death
 Blindfold it
 
 Point a gun at its head
 Take aim
 
 Don't shoot
 Untie the blindfold
 
 Tell the chair its free to go.