Tap tap.
        A blue sky. A sun and moon in it.
Peel it back.
        The angels in ranks, the about.
Peel it back.
       Tap tap the underneath.
Blood where the sky has opened.
        And numbers in there—god how they sing—tap tap— 

and the little hammer underneath,
        and a hand holding the lid true.
What are you building little man?
        What’s it like, what’s it for?
We’re going now, you stay in there.
        Deep in, nail at a time.
We’re putting this back down, down over you, you stay in there,
        and then the storyline which starts where the gold doors

fold over the grassy curtain, click,
        and then the end and so—hair falling 
down all over—and the sky on now and the red sun on and the sunbeam,
        and the thing at the end of its reach—the girl
in the room down there, at her kitchen table,
        the last pool of light on her plate,

and how you must think of her now—tired, or free,
        or full of feeling—and the light  she should rise
to switch on now,
        and how she will not rise.