up

when through the window
a square of sun looms,
it ties into the leaning hairs
of my arms;
holds me there on my bed
to watch the zoo of rain
dangle to the earth somewhere below.

when the clouds close over
like eyelids,
i wait for the wink.

it comes
(i don't know what it looks like)

a girl wears her brown hair
on a window sill;
her eyes i barely see
through the weald of my forearm.
her gaze tangled in the earth below is
stuck to ferns of steel or
bodies simulating life on sidewalks.

each blink
she reconfigures
the columns of cells at the back of my head.