You look under the sheets. It's an old poem you wrote about your sister.
well so we waded through
the reeds and through the mussels
of the shores,
muscles which heaved-ho to let us in
neck deep I saw her body sliced through
by the lip of the wave and refracted depths
Remember with me, I wanted to say,
before your leaving,
underfed eyes,
clay feet, made of lead
We shared a bedroom of course but I think at night, when I fell asleep beside her,
and she stared up at the ceiling a vortex opened up above her. The walls of our bedroom turned to chrome,
dammed dikes darkly reflecting an army of her, sat upright in her bed, conjuring things.
light is a waggling wave,
or particles weaving between
what is lit, and what is seen,
__________,