Grafted onto another body       you     looking at you

and I in the future of the imagination look too

[not pictured]


Inconsistent watering makes the leaves grow in creased, flexing tongues.
       
              Curdled into volume        once-flat planes of green


At the crescendo of the elbow a frame

They look away, not knowing to make space
         for the thick brush following itself

The arm is always making a new kind of triangle as the bow extends the arm and shakes


Erupture from the greenery

I feel placed

How can I get here

A finger plucking a thick string.