O gush of bushfire, O quintuple denim sea, sun pressing like a button
     on us all,
O moon mirabilis, unmirrorable mirrorball, O, you, most bottomless
     of wholes,
O arch as high as Maslow’s hierarchy, O I-wide eye,
     surround-soundness of
oh what’s happened this time, yet O timeless bigtime, day that lasts
     forever and a day,
O, you, beforehand of all forehands, red and long and firm, O, you,
     beforehead of all
          foreheads, crowned or bound or nightcapped,
the most little and forgettable of all the its you made makes these
     great claims of you: