Short phrase
A white curtain
is an Easter morning,
a fire hazard, a warning
of my disregard for it.
A Braille of sparrows
flattens; the invention
of the voiceless telephone call,
its possible applications. Finally
a safe interval
between my body and my name,
each returning to itself
like fingers
of a gripped hand.
A clear weather forecast
means more difficulty
hearing you, the oblong
shadow of a building falling.
This evening, for instance,
the horizon is a sleeping
princess or victim
as if it doesn’t really exist
or ceases to,
or cannot be as pink
and as free as this.