If here was a place that had space for you

Been trying, as they say,
to do it right, right? Well
that's gone. I am. Ripped
from the imprint
my delayed dissatisfaction.
How might letters see
through the calm to reach
a rage? For weeks
I thought, I'm pretty sure
I thought, about whether
or not to dice, to eviscerate
our circumstance, to dance
out the lights. Come closer
you fugitive fairy. Mind the
blueprints— our barn, this patio,
some kinda veranda or gazebo,
possibly jacuzzi, or an esplanade,
just let me know, each or any
cascade of feathered resplendence,
it's all here. Whereas wormhole
tunnels out of here
through lavish
silk mines, and I,
feeble agent, miss
missing anything
other than you.