What is the value of eighty percent
on the edge of a walnut chair
against the window?
Suppose z and x are inverses of each other.
What would bring them closer?
A red couch?
A red moon?
An infinite sky under a galaxy?
Don’t bother finding a planet with me on it,
and don’t expect me to make it home tonight.
The violins are getting louder in the
background. I should leave soon.
Outside this hallway, there is empty space.
I am never alone in a vacuum.
I am never certain whether
glances register legitimately
in my periphery or whether I
cross your county like
the impending rain.
As I tilt my neck towards your tree-house roof,
my feet lift my roots
two hands before midnight.
