The Carver Smilled Its Butter in My Hands

I was reading the woman as the figure of danger, but she herself is, she's writing danger, in a way. I can't go beyond that. Iti makes this whole powerful macrocosm. As i sembled the poem, i felt like it was growing into something much larger. Each line was like the tip of an iceberg, yes, and underneath there was something much larger at stake. And then together, when i got to that line, it's butter in my hands,. i felt like, that's it, you know?