A windshielded fist of inertia, the treacherous arc of nowdead bird, all are omens: light goes where flesh can’t follow. Glass, a border like
I love you because your voice is that vibration, a frequency incubating in a satellite, bolting like lightning into the central chip of my
On the underside of a water sprinkler’s aluminum throat, four drops of light condense, chandeliers in perfect measure. Wearing her gown of cold mist,