You, yourself, are under a canopy of iron and glass, a layered and sinewy system of passages with countless intersections – real and imagined structures that bind us in hard metallic nets, but still allow for the frustrating and potentially liberating panes of glass to witness something other than our current state and place. Is this it? Is this the metaphor? Bound as we are, in a haunting specter of line-less dots, we carve into our skin and sky, anything to keep the fear at bay. The order, the flag, the match, the (high)ways, and the uncovering, all games of strategy to fend off the reality of the spinning rock and a hard place in relational flux.