I hum, waiting,
a girl in the body of a girl, singing
songs in the shapes of bigger beauty,
hoping for love with a handful of letters.
This little brick building I have been
born in with its lopsided corners
its weathered windows and gaping rooms is
a tent—not a house,
but a picture of a house,
just as this body is the seed of a body
and all knowledge of my world a slender
silver shadow of the truth. I sing
as echoes ring me round.