Nest & Trees

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Nest & Trees
Kiki Smith

In search of spaces that aren’t white,
interlaying bundled hairs & debris
are removed softly from crevices
of cement. Leaving the world is as easy
as rolling over; it is the wind that causes
my branches to shake, not their height
or the excitement of distance that bends
away from assembled lengths. Stern
but irreproachable, they drop down
to the coolness of your face & yet
you do not look up. You promise
migratory renderings a resting place
far away from intimacy, whose every
angle looks black & prepared to engulf.

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