the view from in here:
the curves, colors, corners—
forming the anchorage of
you. the angled wood running
down hallways, dreaming of
being trees in a time before
scarcity. she didn’t want to grow,
to move, to change; she knew:
something is wrong. she crept into
the wall and fashioned herself in-
to a knot: good for the slaying.
from beyond she is still saying:
throw me a line. it continues
to feed our gibbous infamy.