Tiny Bubbles
	All day pasting windows to the sky
		I thought we could open & jump out thru . . .
	where your fingers continuously & secret implement angelic test patterns
					Fields Elysian like
	each in antiquity has also carved out eyes between
			which terminate
			in thick sunsets						I’m tearing apart
								piece by piece
	only to gather them up later
			the way a storm gathers
	just off-shore
				its darkness reaching for
	the wings of a gull that
							seems to have
	stalled out
						in mid-air