Are you aware
of the music you make, Cricket?
Can the grass be ticklish to your toes?
Tickled like trapped foes.
Toads and toad bumps.
Frogs salted on salted Slugs.
Creamer for the chocolate night,
Are you alive?
Sentimental over fingerprints,
my wings wandered
three centuries ago.
Where they went nobody knows.
Three lights captured in my eye:
one is the bedroom
one is the trumpet
one is the theatre
Hip bones have red suns.
Flowers crawl on skyscrapers.
Barns and bugs with spotted bellies.
Cracked a mirror on my foot,
wish it stayed the evening
and for supper.
Could have gone home
but instead, harvested Winter
in Mexico.
