I wasn’t sure if I liked her for a long time, and then I remembered that I don’t have to, if I like what she’s doing. She’s from a dream that was so crisply narrative, I wrote it and cut it apart to find out what a slant reflection and undercurrent of it was.

Making poems in this or other defamiliarized ways often feels like the scene in Legend when weakened sunlight penetrates the underworld through a series of reflections from strategically placed mirrors.