one yellow and one blue, placed perpendicular to one
another, slotted, building not up but beside.
this is what she thinks of: constructs, monads.
seeds germinating in the greenhouse, birds.
news and newness, the crossword before words,
the morning after a good night sleep, the first in
a bed, her bed, her room, with all its funny angles.
and she angles her perspective so that triangles
become rectangles, have corners for which she
can place beside one another and fill in the
current vacancies of space, of synapse.
so she wakes and crowds her moment with the
cement between the bricks, the gaps above,
below her now.
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