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