she knows not how to let go of the air in her words

she knows not how much to blow into that balloon

how to twist and fold it, tie it twice, stretch its pain

to make that shape she feels in her wordy mouth,

the twin to the bubble in her mind, the ropy, jelly-baby

idea that skirmishes through her teeth and past her lips

into that invisible chute, from her pencil and into the paper

she cannot see the wood for the trees sometimes

but she can see through the walls and the woolly cloaks