in blades of grass
ants follow a guide,
a following unseen by
boots mangling terrain,
like sea glass,
like years of forming,
one takes time to care for
one they made.

the bed they lay
in the following night,
many strings of nights-
is like ash,
grey dirt piled for thousands
of spoken dates,
years- days following days,
until he came and took the days and
made them years,
and told us what the years were but not
what they meant to the bulbous rocks,
or how seven days made sixty two moons
a sixth
from the sun.

on purpose.

or if
he meant to **** the girl.

or if
it were naivety.

the water trickled reflections of
death, birth; frog legs
that looked like bullhead lilies.

his scars, sutures, shared bones,
they made him together like the
together we fight against.

a monster,
unlike a monster this gaseous air
has seen,
or gasped,
or choked on.
A monster like no other,
that found us here and taught us
to teach each other to drown and
forgive and drown again.