I like games like 7-up,
because they don’t know it’s you.
Like a child I feel.
Small, and pink,
blushing.
Clean with soap and dirty by lunch;
stripped tee-shirts.

The sunshine smiles on teensy sprites,
dancing about the ants.
Watch yourself, and don't be mean.
They'll put them in your pants.

My back feels stiff and sleeps in knots,

In my moist soiled hands the roots break through.
I hold this tree for us.
Guarded with solidity of birch,
this tree has grown in my breast.
Soft are the branches in my arms,

Lying in my yard, my eyes are
fixed on firmament.
Dew sewn grasses whisper in my ears
the details of their experiences.
For a moment,
my being and the earth are one.
The sky is falling.

You find yourself at the sink,
Washing your face.
The counter is wet
It soaks your ratty shirt
Sleeves.
Everything is wet, but
You still feel dry.
Far away,