I scale the inside of the dome-shaped climber.
I hang onto her sturdy frame, skipping
through the myriad of trilateral unity.
In front of me, the opalescent sky.
A warming breeze sweeps
the clouds right to left.
And yet the air haunts.
If the budding trees listen,
they hear only themselves.
Through the dome’s many eyes,
Nothing finds me. The cold bars sting
my hands, replacing soft with callous.
I hang freely on her sturdy frame,
but what hangs onto me
is so much heavier.
