2020

Low slung, across the rivers bend. Rattling against the windowsills. Soft patches of earth. No options, just stay still. I see you, not too far off. Under the horizon, but I can just begin to make out

In dim light, i think about a small pebble tumbled between tender fingers.

We get to it just as the grass pushes up from the dried mud. The tender shoots are trampled.

Hammer, I miss you.

I want this to be spread across my face. A soft mud from tilled soil, on the palms of a rough hand. No music from a songbird, no noise on the muffled breeze. Just a sharp sting, points on a map, stitc