stood at a window, dyed slate by the ocean inside; the impression
Is that you’re stood in a box, peering out through the lid; and it
Opens, blooming like an origami flower into lengths of off-white
Wallpaper; it peels into strips that wind themselves up into albino
Snakes that dance across the stone beaches; their eggs, tide-smoothed,
All hatch in the picture-framed film grain frame of your glass garden
Door; wave motions are cast by the sputtering lamp at sunset; its cord
Is nailed to the ceiling and stretched across thousands upon
Thousands of miles on the ocean floor, connecting every nation to
Your open prison. If gravity reversed in this instant, you’d probably
Trip over it on your way to climb out.