everything is round & we see that even in company the mind has nowhere to fall but back on itself

smooth as eggshells,
masks a cupping
could crack

& what comes first?
the said breath
or the window to show it

sing, see me
blink away dust
in the shapes

where the eyes should be
tie at the back
black ribbon

& I'm bowled
by the thought
of the world

page 176

as tree-rings
keep
the seasons

lips tell
spiral stories
cry out oh

open the hatch
what do we keep
in there?

pulleys, props
for the levered lift
some threadbare

nets
& some ropes
to fly with