A skylight stippled Wet, scatted With translucent brown maple seedwings I'm under that I wrote it as if it were a poem And my handy margin Would profit me. The notebook margin Lends to me Its frugal axis, asking Nothing, determinist Of route, but blandly so. "I didn't know." Push forward The bag of skin Scaffolded animated And house at the same time The hinge we turn on Wrap around night Becomes day, same page We're on it.
Copyright © 2011 by Catherine Wagner. Used with permission of the author.