Enter the Nose You’re in the room across the street. I can see the movie you’re watching about a man who can’t stop shrinking. We watched him walk through the wire mesh of a window screen. He’ll be microscopic soon. And then, smaller, I imagine my own body shrinking. An ant’s shadow over my feet, An eyelash the size of a bus. My doorway, obstructed by crumbs. You couldn’t see me if you tried. It’s not as bright over here. The lights are off, and I’m sitting in the dark but part of my head Is illuminated. A lamp behind your cactus shines through the window and casts a shadow into my ear. Light breaks through a cucoloris in the final moments of the film. Crossfade to an interior view of my head. The walls are pink with two windows facing your living room. The movie is ending, and music plays over the credits. I can hear a faint melody in the distance. It’s familiar, but I’m unable to recall how I know it.