Let us shape the land so we can look out at it. Or we can lift our hands from it and still shape
it with our gaze, as a pianist lifts her palms from the keys to better track melody on the page.
Let us smear Vaseline on our eyes, hold up our extended thumbs and index fingers to make
a frame. We can prune the dead grass from our vision, censor it. The entire forest could be
one topiary if you get far enough from it, one head of broccoli. Our eyeballs make walls
around whatever we stare at. Because we cannot see everything at once, we feel desire.