So It Begins

—maps made with stolen

pens. From bags and drawers,


taken.     Paths ink

             past totems.

          Summer nights






past beds. Sun on edge.


lose a day—searching for

consolations, suns are star-


 the insurmountable. We draw


the world towards us with lines

fine as kite strings—our paper

              lives flying—


Context as Threshold

What I see: Four children down

                 a yellow

slide, jump for sky, dive into


yards, swimming in dirt, leap

             through pink



What they see, can’t be seen—

story in their bodies, they hunt

gold buried in a giant’s ribcage.


Rolling down a house-sized straw,

 into a juicebox. Drunk-up, they

    land on the roof of a mouth,

       lower themselves down

          a damp rope-tongue

              until, beneath

    a heart, they find treasures


      Escape, they explain,

      requires an exit—we

    have to be pooped out—


show me what you’ve found

I say. They give me a handful

                 of rocks.