"Please. Water the flowers."

*

Frail bones. Green bones. Freckles.

Leauges of depth. Riots. Bread-child.

Privacy. Privilege. Instigation (Even if

Clocks disappeared, the comment

Of click would echo in the dream-place.)

Deafness to it. No. Peaceful. Screen

Of paper and incidental ink. I think

I'll be true, be truth. Do I know you?

Shared anima, mine and mine.

I whisper into ribbon of lace, reality,

One curled into place in hand. Call

Names over hillside, and I'll

Answer one I'll half remember, mine.

(The readiness of clawed branch.

The blanched sunlight

Through accidental

Cloud. It rains

Where cape is

Stripped. Shoulders

Sigh, it's

Loud...)