At dusk, she sees girls made of candles; at night, boys with blue pearl feel. Small animals lined up like bowls in the cupboards. When did it start, when did it start. Strong-eyed even in the womb, she says. I’ve got more eyes than bones. More eyes than salt. Tells us how rabbits crawl from her lungs in winter, how her extra heart turns full and fruit. Of course she’s lifting the kitchen’s ruined bulb; of course she’s calling in the seas–just one more thing that wasn’t true until it was.