re-(elevated)

"i can't trust him anymore" she takes a step to the side, three-fourths angle, quarter turn,
"if you say you're going" another three-fourths angled stepping, quarter-turned,
"you have to carry through," pots and pans ring over and through her speech she turns on the one she speaks

she is speaking but in her speech is her dance; and her movement is dance is speech, i can't focus on exact words or subject but can only watch her sway hin-und-hinter, arms swiging emotion outward, each turn punctuating point, a symbolic universe of referential comings-and-goings, at once meant as performance of self, for no-one's eyes, yet a performance for the speaker on the other end of the line; her feet shuffle, wandering yet placed

i feel overwhelming voyerism and turn away in shame, a watcher knowing one is being watched in turn: i turn my eyes to the sky as the hair pricks on the back of my neck-- gaze or cool breeze? no creatures are winging, or watching. it seems as though i am the only one looking from this level.

cold gusts behind me, rushing from the west. i look east, toward the new upcroppings of Hilton Suites. i wonder, if such status and priveledge is afforded to those who have a view,

why do we not place greater importance on the bird's eye-view
as it moves from cold northern mountains to southern oceanside
(not the warm plateau)