The Beauty Zone
When she left, a little latch clicked and the whole fence shook, briefly.
But even that sound was perfect like the sound of God in the right mouth.
Of course the earth is fringey at the edges, but even there, what hangs wants
to be touched. How could she not move through it, the air around her hands rippling
in the most delicate bewilderment? Behind her, the pickets' white vertebrae
let off a burst of light though she remained as she had always been: mute, outside.