People are no longer like swatted fruit flies
begging for apple seeds, and remind me
more of leaves riddling the lake
casting shadows on fish faces.

“You are too young to be afraid of death”
but I have already felt the wrinkle.

I never felt wrong but maybe
I had stepped in-between
the crossfire of oil and water
like daytime moon
who always shows
her face too soon.

Don’t let them keep my clothes.