a FLOATiNG PLAQUE of CALCiUM CROSSiNG DESiGN

Outside, i note the length
of telephone lines.
They form parallel and intersect,
networking a sound horizon
at the forefront of blue sheets
tossed toward cascades,
washing out color eyes
are drawn toward more
famously in days.
Keeping close to the corner
of the inside window,
stretching the legs of the room,
i feel whole—
sown in the middle of matter—
everything sanctimonious
allowing a glance or two over
at a strain in opposite glass.
Beside this entertains relatives
of the sun smiling plenty
and painting bookshelves
yellow spotlight.
Settled with difference,
the bow of my stomach sticks
to the wood floor where i lie
face forward as a barnacle clung
to the underbelly of a turtle;
a coughing crow,
a sound of fish—
a trick of light beneath
a tablecloth shouting
above undesignated edges
blooming uniforms of chaos.