from “Ceiling Unlimited Series”
--Matthea Harvey 

(almost anything) 

Dear dust-ghost, the instructions don’t make
sense unless I sing them. If the bottom-most hem
is six feet from the ground, how do I get into this dress?
Bird ode: Dark triangle feet in a wind-field.
Fifth museum poem: O swim on through.
Handsome & Then Some: Hello. Please help.
Or if pretending isn’t the way, tell me that
the pony’s bones are still too soft to hold me
up & take away my paper lantern. Like most
cadenzas I need something to come back to.
I push the rubble out of the second-storey window.
I put the money in an envelope & it’s sucked up
a transparent tube. Only the rusted bits of roof
stand out against the sky. Yellow water
in the gutters—always the fault falls somewhere.