The intersections surround
the house like the bells ringing.
Like bells ringing are part of her
hair.  I'm walking with her,
the sky presses us.  Wants us
to crystallize.  Carrying
small doors in our pockets,
just in case, a small pane
of glass to hold in front of our
faces.  The sidewalk is empty,
then hands passing us papers.
Neighbors, bits of a town piling
onto my shirt.  I don't know
what the sky or bells want.
The neighbors are talking
about intersections, how they
sneak around us in the night.
I'm an empty intersection.
It is night.  There are geese
just above the powerlines
already it is a season
for trucks unloading pallets
onto our streetfronts
and scurrying away when
I call out to them asking
why they fill in all the spaces
and then unfill them.  And she's
making us a map.  I feel
its vibrations inside my brain,
how she is electricity
with her fingertips.