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.