We have the slow and stumbling walk of a desperately unified group,
handicapped by our own disjointed versions of reality.
Each with unbelievable wonder,
each with uneven gait.
It smells of smoke - all the colors.
Also trees and whiskey and freshly chlorinated hair.

There's a praying mantis in front of me. He's a big one.
A boy my age stands below,
controlling the methodical movements of the insect sage.
They reach and bow and pray and walk in a circle with a unique unity.
The giant mantis looks at me and I run.

I only realize how quiet it is in this behind-the-fence-world when I hear those distinctly friendly giggles.
I'm pointed by these giggling fingers in the direction of perfect clown love.
Two painted faces dripping devotion from their exaggerated eyes.
Two pairs of suspenders over the violence of two hearts.
Four gloved hands with no limits.
And one striped leg under one striped leg through one striped leg over one striped leg.