it's sunday, so the girl in the yellow hat
will be singing by the pond.
we walk in circles at daybreak, talking of the hymns
that dared to destroy us.

he tried to tell me of the trees, with their beading lies and
bleeding faults.
(i never listened.)

he asked me if i would answer, so i bit him on the cheek.

tell me what passion is, i screamed, tell me where it went.
tell me of the little boy with the jump rope and how it licked his
pallid neck until it turned blue.

you blamed the valleys on your misery and the mountains on her smile,
but what about the mess in the bedroom

and dreams that created it?

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