The sky curves like a blue bowl turned upside down as we take in the view from the fifth-floor observation deck: trees below, just budding; commerce city a mile off, gleaming in the sun; the zig-zag footpath along the frontage road park; cars like glossy matchboxes on little wheels. I say most of this aloud, and she tells me she catches spiders that way—slides a page under the clear glass bowl, studies the tiny creatures, and tosses them out her back door.


We are one tremendous
field of undulating

waiting till it happens