in my side of the Earth I was not tilted, realized and emptied my eyes are spigots my mother left open to thaw the glaciers of supper
zenith visits the Summer most often than the wind blowing through the curtain of my eyes where I always see the dead smidgen flowers all over the ricefields
this measure of tomorrow – to have been incarcerated in the past that bears no arms to this very Saturday afternoon fish breathe now in enigmatic means pulses of rivers tangle joys with naked boys of brindled youth
see once they jackknife into a memorized depth pellucid like my memory of uncollected afternoons