damp hands heating
slick sterile surfaces,
the galaxies of molecules
experience fluctuating tension
alone curved beams
in a blank dead space
have to hang in a moment
rotate reaching over
world's thinnest membranes
not quite the right thinness
to be sifted through centuries
hovering tiny over
a great silent abyss
the internal consilience
old fibers interwoven
abstract plaster built
and dreamed into myself
grease stain years ago
a plaster guilt
several sterile galaxies
sat cold on the windowsill
in one hanging moment
