See this avatar take on the day;
that well-dressed agent
on my behalf.
See how she moves
between the backdoor
and the garden gate.
Joints engage, limbs propel
her in a forward motion. See
how she . . . carries on.
She’s smooth she is,
that one enrobed
in the other.
The one who shows
you this, but not that.
A sleight of hand,
a trick with light, a bit
of familiar smoke screen.
If I could embody her,
minus the division— oh, what a fullness
there would be.
some ambitious God
to create her every day.
This incarnation of robotic
proportions. See her waver
at the changing light,
so soon inside the evening
door materializes a woman
of other means.