I have wandered like a flood between the banks, bound without binding, unstitching sleeves and seams until my robe hangs like a curtain, lofting. I have opened the windows of my house and lain on the roof, tapping at the glass. In this way I have woken myself from dreams, the small pebbled noises of my nails urging the breath beyond the specter of the ribs. Undo each inhalation. Unweave the cloth, disrupt the warp and woof, lay them side by side like limbs arranged under an open sky while the heart thuds with a dull yearning ache. Untwist the threads and make a tassle from the fray. I have wandered like a flood all over the shifting delta of the summer, its lines and frames. I have opened the windows of my house.