These immobilization fees
don’t cover what she does
with her left wrist. Flicks serifs

off letters the way she used to release
ashes from her smokes, the way
I might dismiss her

without understanding what she might be
building in that empty lot. April snow lasts
only so long—then she’ll write this off too.

Metamorphosis in Two Spheres

A dime in the street
becomes two touching
a flatness tires can’t roll
away. Infinity sleeps outside 

before summer solstice
in the rain. With morning, it rises 

to become a figure eight
on air—hold the ice.
Keep going, dare
ascendance and serifs. By midday, 

it just might become
this ampersand above
tree canopies flirting
with young gulls and moths.