again I’m sitting in beyond

aging stars like white tiles

cracks make their time seem



angles are a fever of mirrors

and descend upon the blurry-enough

to not be seen


curving nostrils

a cow is clown of field

milk is their laughter


still the tiles mildew &

make shadows


why I thought of

a cow

pretending something is here

nothing is stationary

love is renewed by imagining

an impossible space

like a field dueling a bathroom stall

& the mirrors retreat into themselves