all of the swans who left the lake, us too.
in the end, we landed like abandoned cars, a grade school kid taking the subway alone.
it would be simpler if we had come from the palm of one and the finger of another
the world in question is in a microwave, defrosting; fish are swimming on the windowpane, in love with the sound their bellies make on glass
when my hands are above my head there is nothing
who do i belong to? i’m not asking you
in the space between sleep and wake, i try
sounds of airplanes taking off all around
We could be anything we want, repeat back to each other, tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum somersault around their own thumbs blurry in the poor porch light
from this angle, there are 16 different doors through the back porch my hands mirror each other on all sides, the planes the planes the planes.