Lindsay Faber Chiat
Participating Providers in Plan

We could lower the mast
on the afternoon,
chalk it up;
could try to hammer it
through the glass window,
let it dress the street
like spittle. We could push back
at the sky, its constant, deliberate
leaning.  There is nothing
to stop us
from sleeping naked in the hallway,
allowing night to descend on us
there, Our lives are going to be
with each breath in.
But we can't expect to move
anywhere like this, blind
to the symbolism. At the window:
smoke of pigeons lifting
in one great gesture; the clouds,
heaving knots of cotton
lugging past the glass
slowly,  purposefully
making way for one another