How does, how does, how does it work so, little valve stretching messily open, as wide as possible, all directions at once, sucking air, sucking blood, sucking air-in-blood how? On the screen I see the part of me that always loves my life, never tires of what it takes, this in-and-out, this open-and-shut in the dark chest of me, tireless, without muscle or bone, all flex and flux and blind will, little mouth widening, opening and opening and, then snapping shut, shuddering anemone entirely of darkness, sea creature of the spangled and sparkling sea, down, down where light cannot reach. When the technician stoops, flips a switch, the most unpopular kid in the class stands offstage with a metal sheet, shaking it while Lear raves. So this is the house where love lives, a tin shed in a windstorm, tin shed at the sea's edge, the land's edge, waters wild and steady, wild and steady, wild. Suzanne Cleary