Fret

i. a voice like a wedding

Snow falls

             through the hole

                          in the ceiling,

                                       collecting

onto the mouse-

             trap in the

                          corner. Mouse

                                       dizzied, falling in

love, no

             something else,

                          from his dwell

                                       in the wall,

regarding

             the snow.

                          Echoes from

                                       downstairs deliver

news of a

             meteor named

                          Reach,

                                       the shape

of a snarl,

             an obsession

                          with the earth.

                                       When I die

I hope

             there is no one

                          left to bury

                                       me. A voice

from the kitchen

             ticking. A voice

                          with nowhere

                                       to land.

I wake,

             I animate, I

                          going to

                                       the corner

aware of

             the eyes

                          aware of

                                       the bite

aware of

             the meteor

                          the possibility.

ii. a commotion inside the wall

Imagine,

             Mouse thinks,

                          a row of

                                       teeth, in

a mouth,

             connected to

                          a gut by

                                       a long tube.

It can taste,

             it can smell,

                          it can see,

                                       it can hear,

it can touch

             something as small

                          as me. I might

                                       call it mother.

I might call

             it Mouse.

                          I might

                                       dissolve in

its dark,

             become a drip

                          of blood, reach

                                       one day its

brain, which

             it did not know

                          it had, and

                                       say sleep.