If the weather’s noise
makes my life opaque, tilts this shade
‘Til it is only texture, barely enough to stalk
a sense of motion through honey

I’m drafting the winter;
when I talk I reserve my weight,
Throw my reflection off the ceiling
to see what shape I give the night

But when the size of the nail
is a peg,
Too little to balance
my frame on —

Don’t shatter! I’m kneeling
four legs on linoleum,
We’re pretending you might use
the length of this hallway

As a furnace, until
the gate flies open
to our