[conic section]

and there you have it – the proportion
of a life spent dreaming, relative

to the trappings and externalism
of poised perfection. you could cut

it out, her inner life, and discard
the wedge of moonbeams, rainbows

roll up the remains of a life
and peer at her, down a funnel,

like the wrong end of a telescope,
seeing an alienated surface.