Climbing icy breasts

of the valley's hill

to the peak and concrete furniture.

Sharing a square in the sky

a whole series of squares

ending in a mattress.

Full throated I follow on wheels

and woodland paths

your heart shapes

and shivering nothings

that inhabit.

Waking first

in a tower of languid light

a church of birdshit

shelf speckled with the books that clung

and the ones that fell

outward to the thorn

of consciousness she keeps in her panties.