Laura Hinshaw
I live inside a windowed box,
I live inside a prism.
The vines are climbing up the walls—
a living, glowing prison.
The rainbows crawl across the wall
and, creeping, tell the time.
The baskets and my body rest,
the woven lines entwine.
Wooden frames and stretching strings
hold me up and move me round,
The blank response of blank white walls,
I’m face down on the ground.
Run rivers through my dreams at night
to make swiftly go the days.
Time breaks like beads across a rug
that’s colorful and frayed.
A crow is calling on nearby.
I’m pressing my ear to the glass
in the comfort of knowing a moment entirely—
It’s eternal,
but it also will pass.