In terms of place, to be

plunked down over and over

by an unwilling self,

thrice removed from

the decisive moment,

the rivers are the rails of

something sifting through the trees

the scene of gathered light bulbs

at a first crowning,

I am alive in stone that is the sky's deposit

I am frowning in glass that is bent around the moment

my chair of echoing plaster

follows me along the tracks

of furry meteors,

I spill candlelight,

the photo lined hallways of a dream

follow me to the helm

of all cashed beams,

skin soft for the rope surroundings.