Bettendorf speaks of his camera's projection
of relative distance, shows us impressions of
mutilated hands like a glossary of enclosures
for small game.  he calls himself a polyglot
but is in fact a factory for half-hidden writs---
we could play Trickball, like kicking the stems
off dandelions plants new seeds;

in remittance of genuflection we are going 
to revise old memories.  when Bettendorf 
was born he was the size of a dollar bill.  his
baptism was performed in a 9000 gallon pool
of water onstage.  at 18 months he became
the smallest person in the world to undergo
robotic surgery.  he is not the inventor of 
a machine that produces pain from faraway.

the throat is highly vascular.  jumping signifies
grief.  the next few months the ground
will be scabbed with ice.  in a sleep a 
heavy abscess his heart bulges and squirms
against the mattress pad.  Bettendorf visits ruins, 

hums a tune in the dispassionate hue of pine.  
a black line will be drawn to indicate the line 
of restoration.  

this is a temple of balance.  it is not enclosed.  
Bettendorf's big nose warms the air he breathes.