^^^^^

I used to paint cans and stand them up
one on top of the other in long cerulean rows.
Now I'm filled with streets, most quiet
engine light over water, and a sleeping life
in the curvature's grimace of clenched hands--

barrels afloat brine rope are cloaked with what I breathe
for dank then distilled
fern plastic, the plume end of science
imprinted in braille on the back of a woman's neck.
I thought I was building a fortress.