Inhabiting the Tesseract
Between our adjacent rooms the voile twitches liminal, exposes the
perpendicular. We are entangled, she & I, the way in which
nothing really dies, woven into the same fabric of the next
dimension. Living side by side in the crooked house, beans are still
sliced on the diagonal, spilt salt flung over the left shoulder. As for
that singing, stringing in my ear at night—is it really just tinnitus?
I want to go where the sun circles continuous in the same summer
sky & time is whatever you want it to be, nothing but our photons
splitting. On those days I realise my skin is not an impenetrable
barrier, but a net with tiny holes through which even that stranger
on the street gets in. I’ve started holding my breath around anyone
I don’t want to inhale. The air in here is so thick with voice now,
the walls cannot contain us, & as the house is folding in upon itself
I can almost catch the wail of all her quantum daughters leaping
out of windows.