Enter dialogue with that which is ineffable, intangible,
Interloping, such as a dog, a toddler, or God.
Take notes on what is said, with words or symbols,
Purple ink a bonus.
Say “yes” to travel.
Lay your head down, purposefully, then draw a line
With your nose that looks past the ceiling,
Past the shingles on the roof.
This will be the outbound, and also the return.
Form a cardboard box behind your brows
Into which you sweep that monstrous memory.
(You know the one. Yes. That one.)
Fold its flaps, tape them down.
Loose what’s left upon the world.