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you told me you loved it when the trees changed their minds and covered the ground with a million veined post-it notes ...
After twighlight,
At her desk,
She ponders the implications of signing in crayon..
little girl sweeps herself across the park a pretty burn of yellow cloth ...
The wind rhymes with the sound of their pants
brushing against their legs. The music must shift
to a higher register, whenever the diesel trains roar. ...
Art Gallery waterwall friezes over.
We have velvet theories about boys becoming men, the mysteries of plumbing ...
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grey dawn thin old moon alone and radiant
