The leaves laid low,
Thriving under my invertebrate
And inconstant passions.
The forest catches in the spinnerets
Of my pregnant eyelashes.
I jump within and without,
A hanging locust, a codex of storms
Lacking both wherewithal
And directional fidelity.
A false foyer, a brittle origami canopy
The creature in me fearful
Of the incoming light,
Of that magical door
White as an unconscious eye.
How can I live without my electrons?
My empty purse unzipped and stained black
With an excess of whiles and words
That heart, stricken, hums
Fog spilling through her glasgow grin.