As a child, I was shown how to cut with scissors. If they snapped shut, I was done. I learned how to keep them alive, alive. Open, open, like a whale gathering in sea. Sea rushing through baleen, sea pouring in. Loss. My body like a folded chair – cornered elbows, knees, fingers, and jaws. Crunched. Then, unfolding a groan. Jaws hinging a slow cry, like a whale who sieves, swallows the sky, not just the moon and the stars, but all the dark. What whale am I that will gather my own star-filled waters? My bones unfolding, a fragile framework, letting light break in like an open cut, like night’s star gash of spiraled Milky Way. My time of swim, my dimension, scissored down.