Traffic through the city-forest. Would you throw this note? Reference point: ten stories up.
Girl painting a sea rabbit. Has just outgrown dangling. O socket o wire o clouded lens, sings the
rabbit or the girl. And, through this window, another window, thinks both. There are fields where
the eye can starve. Even that hipness. Time changed into a darkening glass. You never
want. A body wishes to be held, the delicate bones. I should stretch my arms to her. Because I am
right here, she said, a woman. Plugged in and sorting. A sill of tiny no-flowers, she sees this,
another spill coming, all these incredible shadows mark the edges. A calibrated projection on
glass or air so she can’t actually see it but still it’s there, a little audio making it visible.
Joni Wallace earned her MFA at the University of Montana. Her debut
poetry collection, Blinking Ephemeral Valentine, was selected by Mary Jo
Bang for the 2009 Levis Prize and is just out from Four Way Books.