I start on the coffee table with a sledge hammer
Turning it to splinters big as porcupine quills.
I dismantle all the blankets thread by thread,
Unravelling back and forth like a dog chasing the afternoon.
With the string and the splinters I make a forest
Of conifers and banyans and jungle vines.
The bathroom sink falls next.
Water flows from the wall and wanders through the trees
Like the rivers of Eden.
The rivers pool beside the bookshelves.
I take down all the books and shred every page
To make a beach of clean white paper.
I smash the window and poke its shards into the ceiling,
Where, star-like, they reflect the pink evening sky
Blowing in above the undulating trees.