Every day, some moment when the ceiling
hangs too low, and walls
rush in at the speed of thought,
quick and dark, pressing at my ribs.

Every day, an instinctive
gasp as my feet find the door,
the sky, the endless expanse,
thick with kin.

Every day, I walk
in wild enclosure, fortressing arms
of cedar and oak.
I am an ant

within their towering green,
an insect caught
in every web. God, I hope
I’m never released.