A line of bare trees forms a brown wall across the street.
If I follow the wall, it will take me to the water tower I climbed
as a girl. What about the wall in my room?
What about the window in my wall?
I look out at the red sky.
The clouds look like the slow-moving shapes of a mobile I made.
My father hung the mobile from a hook
he fastened to the ceiling, but the mobile disappeared.
I never asked about my father.
I never asked what happened.