How land lays over itself, sediment-full; we all in the belly of something other; you witness the neighbor’s dog in taunt of blue day; this just out of & reach is a noun no longer in roll off your tongue; how arms-length means at bay at bay; what you try to keep
out despises & the reflection of your bones in the mirror
means exposure; & you feel so orange in the peel-back
rinds of elbows, of knee caps; & wounds & their wide-wide-open, if able, any locked door…& arches & more knobs; neighbor’s pit bull; foam in the mouth; when you compact it all down: a mountain; who counts in landscapes? You ask a question & the question stares back, blank, in dare to answer.