She steps out, sees the stars hurrying to make shapes. Inches beneath the lawn, beating hearts passing like a river. Herons and beating hearts and terrible rock music in the light bulbs above the heads of missing persons. Those worms with 98 percent of my DNA, I want to say why did I ever eat you to disgust people. She's thinking of peaches, stacked in a line across the sink. One speck of light stuck outside each. Lifting one at a time to her ear as if they would this time tell the truth. I ate the worms with a robot gut and today I hear preacher, preacher, preacher, where did you slump? She spills into the backyard like foam, apologizing to no one. A window frame with the glass bust out. In the sky, holes on a skin where the light gets through and her tongue coming out in little flicks. A chair, an archer, a fruit tree leaning to the earth and it won't stop.