“Have you been living
              as an object that you manipulate at a distance?” 


                  Lightning is the most
                  delicate bizarro.
                            It briefly fills the room you sit in with her.
                     It stems, and has no mother.


                                            “I think you’ve been living
             partly as an object—”


            The other part is
            if you walk out to refuse her that and just pay her next week.
            Not as fun as when
            you were a child and your sister
            bent your limp body
            into furniture she’d sit on

             a chair             a table             stop it          you’re too heavy
             Once or twice she might have settled on
                                             a tall, proud lamp
             and switched you on and off, on
             and off, and that might have looped
             a few smiles between the two of you