Catching breath below the pines,
we fall again. Stunted by
a view of ambition, killed mid-step
by a tongue my mouth can’t home.
It begs for yours, once a sweeter
denizen. Brief encounters.

Lower, in the midday pitch,
we play on dampened grass.
An old and broken home
morphs into tiny bricks –
layered perfectly for the second.

Now, under bright arches
we build and build. Push through:
pursue a touch of loss. Doors built,
splintering into a time that
screams too loud to hear recent tones.

A spin on the chapped path,
we dodge the looming break:
seconds to go. Swimming in
lightened patches on the grass,
we crumble sweetly as the stone.