leave us right here
under swing sets.
most amounts to loss
there’s never been today any-way
Choked-up Close-up
where we’re needed.
intake hand out
smell of astrology at it’s worst.
we end up here, we go
home music
bread, talking of making bread
where is the light?
often I don’t want light.
other times I demand it.
a memory of a friend fixed in place dashes off
off with news of how it was all imagined
After all
sun cloud patterning printed on silk
simply has to go if I don’t first,
right past love
