Susan Gibb has a bit up on Brimmer and Death that covers stuff written into a space called “Rooms.”
Here’s the revision:
Hand in hand, they walked through rooms, some cluttered with books and furniture, others punched through with holes that opened onto instances of existence.
“I opened these for you,” she said. “I’m about scope. I thought you’d like some.”
He watched stars burst. He observed a multitude of births. He saw mountains crumble on worlds other than Earth, masses wander alien streets gasping for disease-less air, small forms fall from windows, avalanches smoking toward the wide-eyed, until he had to turn away. He follow her onto a checkerboard floor that coiled out into blackness like the strand of a gene.
“Everywhere,” she said.
She led him over the edge and onto the opposite side where they found themselves hemmed by a crowd of blue sheep. He followed her over a hill and she offered him coffee from a black cup in a kitchen with an avocado green stove.
“Have you decided where you’ll, what did you say, bunk up?”
She notes something I hadn’t thought of, too.