Today, because I couldn't find the shortcut through, br I had to walk this town's entire inner br perimeter to find br where the medieval walls break open br in an eighteenth century br arch. The yellow valley flickered on and off br through cracks and the gaps br for guns. Bruna is teaching me br to cut a pattern. br Saturdays we buy the cloth. br She takes it in her hands br like a good idea, feeling br for texture, grain, the built-in br limits. It's only as an afterthought she asks br and do you think it's beautiful? br Her measuring tapes hang down, corn-blond and endless, br from her neck. br When I look at her br I think Rapunzel, br how one could climb that measuring, br that love. But I was saying, br I wandered all along the street that hugs the walls, br a needle floating br on its cloth. Once br I shut my eyes and felt my way br along the stone. Outside br is the cashcrop, sunflowers, as far as one can see. Listen, br the wind rattles in them, br a loose worship br seeking an object, br an interruption. Sara, br the walls are beautiful. They block the view. br And it feels rich to be br inside their grasp. br When Bruna finishes her dress br it is the shape of what has come br to rescue her. She puts it on.