In June, I saw
A beautiful white spider
On my backpack.
It was eating a mosquito.
I will write a poem
About it later.

O black toad,
Sage of the sodden floor,
Grant me your stoicism
As I go my labored way.
And may you prosper,
Consume legions, grow fat;
Yet deftly elude all
Who would do you injury.

Between cups of kisses
He and I put back the pieces
Left by past lovers
Out of caprice
Aborted missions
We carried fissures
Regretting old wishes
He and I swore, no more guises
Only sweet promises
For every sunrise
That blesses our eyes

We weren't in the least bit afraid
Of breaking any rules
Because it felt all too natural
To be any sort of wrong