Very late it began to rain.

Your foreign friend flicked on the lamp
to countermine zooms.
Her neck and collarbone are burning
to show their softness. Her hair seems partible
emitting an innocence that blasts.
This is a loose translation, drawing on pitch-black rumors about your life. You planted them yourself.

How was it to go on and record the full soundtrack, none of the script? Was it like writing from a retrieval search with lots of different data trees leading to ersatz acculturation?