like a cat, every move with
moments when boys jump to a beat that
rolls and sways
soaked in remembering how
your voice is not rich when it comes to
writing
prone and in need of a tenderness I
seek
unraveling the city that comes with the
ability to stop
you slip when dancing late into the
night
drawing out the thought of soup in the
dead of winter
the kind that melts my heart and
spreads close to my bones for warmth and touch
my eyes turn the color of my shirt and
soften over spindling arms
the branches of a tree bridging the
distance to the stillness I’ve
witnessed between
a summer for children beyond Darwin’s
radio
Where small fish swim near snails
folding slowly behind
the secrets of a thousand weary
travelers
tucked under tiny flowers in the early
morning
with waiting wells of hidden language
