In hammocks you collect
ceilings, my hairweight
household (especially us
sigh gnats—littlemouthed
to sound
to us
like much). All thin fingers,
you spin wooly air—
not so high,
not quite as carefully,
whine lazy passersby—
the cat, a sound wave,
a broom, the usual roomful
of interested
in the day to day, the way
webs take influence easily.