When the window shattered, the sky’s mirror inverted.
Suddenly the sun was speaking with my mouth,
there were these sequences of stars
just pouring out of me like vertiginous daughters
whose names were the secrets of my own sources and deaths.

An electrical girl suddenly emerged from light’s best danger,
forming her motions into webs and forests of song,
mountains of caresses, roiling storms
of milky, sibilant abundance and
terrifying battles of unthinkable recognition.

We collided, and the world disappeared for a moment.

All identity absconded. There was neither light, nor
darkness, nor absence. A kind of intrinsic stuttering ensued.
Then, the door. Then the bird whose seven wings became
that thunderous urgency within the most essential pulse…
a window of rhythms in which the shelter of the sky
was allowed at last to regain its perfectly natural familiarity.