Though she doesn’t quite make sense,

I understand her.
And say so.
See,

she is still here,
picking up the slipping
threads of her logic.
She is concerned about the gendarmes.
She is trying to remember where she is going.
She seems happy.

My sister is explaining he got
it wrong.

$500,000.
He is focused on the money
he says was offered once.
From my father.
No, she is explaining as they
walk behind a transparent wall
with windows.

Furious, furious I finally yell at him.
Forcing my lips to part,
squeezing the air through with
such an effort.
You are depriving her, find someone.
There, clear, strong.
His excuses begin.

Cut.

Art on walls.
Loosely hung.
At the top of the ladder I reach just a little more
and nudge a vertical image, higher,
adjusting some pieces.
One is mine.
And then we leave, Margaux and friends,
The entrance door opens and closes.
Seth is heading in.
A romp de romp I’ve now forgotten.

Ahead, little houses fill just 2 blocks.
Set back from the street,
they are peculiar for the city.
Low, pastel, on grassy lots-
one group, nestled near a river.
The city is everywhere just away.
Cement and emptiness dotted with buildings.
Out there a long view.
Is it safe I wonder?

Shifting, I look again,
a house exposed, the side removed.
The inside, all wooden, and smaller than before.
Cocooned, a surf board bulging from the wall.

Could I live here?
But not in that building.