In a story this would be described:

the trail; the streetlights that hung
over head; trees & something much smaller
underneath; courted in the clutches
of stomachs; what will grow when allowed.

I am not inattentive, reasonably.

This summer available in lengths.

Such as round tables, such as umbrellas
tilted to shade, such as fanning away
warmness from our attentive bodies.

There are things that one forgets, reasonably.

The clicking phone, the clicking phone.
One before the other, alternating travels.

2 responses to “”

  1. Top poem!

  2. um…thanks anonymous.

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