Walked. Cracked. Blur of accident, this body a dog that won’t stay home, you a mulberry bush (round and round we go). This body a map, longitudes and lassitudes, this whole body an unstrung harp, lost notes. Thus begins the weather unsettled, the heart as gate banging on its latch, the heart as towel thrown in, the heart as 3am. Self-portrait as peeling wallpaper. Self-portrait as unthreaded eye. Self-portrait as beehive, as buzzing, the promise of sweet unmet, impending sting.