the houses were so nice we couldn’t live in them
“so here you are at the nerve centre”
in one eye and out the other
failing to either greet you
or evade into hyperspace
“is it, is it real?”
whenever it snows and surrounds
the curtains opened with the computer turned
on the surface, like bubbles in a lake
a syzygy of planets occurs
when we got into the spirit of it
a finger pointing, a heart beating
