I find a space beneath.
The air here, cool and fresh as if in
a northern wood.
From my back, pressed against the worn oak floor,
I look up
through branches,
though bare and gnarled near the trunk,
evergreen.
This denizen of a forest removed
and now
wrapped, too tight,
in wires and foil.
The prismatic effect, bewildering.
Red, yellow, green and orange
lights blink and my nerves fire;
an aurora or, perhaps, each bulb
a distant star.