Quilling

Dishes are sharp       When set
        It is a measure        Of the time quality
Of listening

Did the room       Brighten
        And do I feel like       Pest control
Or syntax

I have more words       For smell
        Than startle       Here voice gets
Confusing

The materiality        Of air
        Expanding        Condensing instead of
Scaling

Like leaves        If I could remember
       Leaves        Sensing as relationship
Fieldwork

Your heart is slower        Than mine
       I’m not picky       Just
Would prefer

If not a forest        A hedge
       Without the crow’s       Company
What under

There is in       The kitchen
       Is incorrectly sized       Like morning
When you try

To talk low       I am a prototype
       Of attention       I am a problem
Of cute

I am inhaling       Ash
       What sense in sound       Without
Smell

I will die       Young
       I am uncurling       Did I answer
The question

I am anointing       These scents
       As an archive       Of your
Betrayals