Edison built light in a basement & called the glass housing a globe
even Tom knew, there are still questions better left unmasked

will a ring by diffusion atrophy the pointer finger?
there’s the rusty shards I wiped on my jeans behind

a gas station in Montana. We could rebuild it, I said and
kicked at the concentrics rutted in the dirt.

I liked the story and the pregnant patina of the orangish hood, and the price
could you learn to enjoy the small calcification in your boot?

using a pebble as a stilt, the moon in the high cupboard
has gotten in my skin like fish oil.

can a tiny look underneath something actually sear you?
when I was young I knelt

down and peeked into a small hole
there were piles of mice, silver tufts and pinkly desiccated

ears like mold sprouting from feminine diamonds
poisoned mice by the generations, and still

we had a pantry that was necessary.
in the dark you could hear the grammar of them

the swish and delight in a wonderfully cold house
with closets full of esconsing blankets on rotation.

we never had any moths. the mice ate them.