Unseen baby, unknowable one. You didn’t invite them to become bad mothers. You don’t correspond with mothers. You don’t know the alignment, the starsign, the angel of mother. You don’t ask and the mother...
Excellent dew, we’ll go out fishing and fishing has come up. All smiles in a night dream, hiking up the humid woodsy path, all moist and mud, on my right the human fish ladder...
Who notices the me back of the moon.
The mirror. The mirror doesn’t know you.
Quiet relief that the weekend is over. Platinum light gone down and gone down early.
I like the sensation of a loose form. Three pages at a sitting. Or thirteen fragments. Or fifty words. I feel safer. Enclosed. I’m in a quieter, less hysterical space.