little idiot
you let
them in

ice cream
for lunch i
live at least
one child-
hood dream

who wants
to hire me
to be their
back garden
hermit i am
overqualified

pull in edges

there’s substance
in a not-hole

substance &
discovery &
tiny blue vein
weaves of truth

lines are not
always cracks
sometimes you
turn on again

& beauty was
already

before your face

night &

a slow

breeze

& a bike’s

throaty

engine

climb

in my

window