ONE

It’s not solid.

Solip.

It wants.

It speaks.

To the moon. The sky.  

It’s not hollow.

Where did it go?

It sleeps in me.

Moves to the right.

Clings to it’s neighbor.

Blinking.

Perhaps one day it will crawl back.

Where is it coming from?

Within the tree.

Magnolia

TWO

It’s late in the evening; a waterfall asks “what’s the ocean like?”

He does not stop in shock at the words.

She scraped her hair back behind her ears and raked her knee.

It could be a fine place. In constant motion.

"This could be heaven if we made it such"

It lives richly and goes mad.

Like a racehorse. A river.

It is married to shadow.

It asks for nothing.