By Patricia Nash

Take a human, like myself.

Quadruple me

and pose

my head by

my feet

and make

via inward

90-degree angles

a square. Sextuple that

square of myselves and make

thereby a cube

of hypothetical myselves

by hypothetical myselves

by hypothetical myselves,

each face a facet

in flux, aka

this’s the approximate shape / size

I saw an enormous machine

excise from the yard before

my window. Days after, the hole was still there, whereby

I saw a person

helmeted in magenta bob


inside it... I

approached her and saw

a copper spiral glint by

the spot where she had

been. It had no business being so bright.

Patricia Nash is a poet and translator from Germany and Oregon. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Interrupture, Foundry, The Collagist, Denver Quarterly, and elsewhere. She recently completed her MFA in poetry at the Iowa Writers' Workshop, and she tweets at @pattynashdj.