i peer outward
on down and around
out into the street
under spiders’ feet
the spot on the fence
where they touched
brings my reflection
back to me
i listen closely
to the sounds they make
passers by talking ****
and the hum of
where i sit
the molecular spaces
between my back
and wood slats
songs they sing
to dust in plaster cracks
and you are gone
rid from these places
running around
the divots and wide
corridors of the
farthest shores

You are a juice box.
I am the bent straw
That stabs into you
That leaves you
Hollow.