are fickle. They tickle
my mind. They're cornflower
blue. Running like a watercolor
in the rain, then connecting

together like links
on a chain. They bring me
back to strawberry fields
where life isn't real. And they

steal my hours picking
them like flowers for my dining
room table.  I bunch them
all together like a painting

of a sunset. And they collect,
a debt I haven't paid. They keep
growing. I'm living in the shade of
them. Sewn onto the edge,

my hem. Pebbles in my shoes I can’t
shake loose. I walk at night. Floorboards
creek and the moon speaks to turn
off the gaslight.