So there is this curve finding its path, straightening.
And its lines stay, its shape changes.
A beating of youth's innocence.
The curve shivers,
cradles this loss in rigid angles.
Doorknobs above this plane twist and turn in strange resonance.
Light removes our square from its rest,
the curves recalls & falls in its haste.
Searching for new ground.

A page turns, a movement is here.

This hole opens, chambers become themselves thrice over.