There was a murder at my childhood

playground today.

On days like these,

the rebel trees go dancing

I’ve a capacity for cruelty.

On these days of broken weather,

I know better than to crave

The imps of antiquity hum

in my lungs

I nested them

(soft verses—

The morning’s bakery is a silent one.

He is always

asking questions

You topple yourself,

tumbling crystal

What rampant possibility

in waking before the sun—

Ignorance crept

I kicked the past in the chest

when it dared to run by

I love you most when I am dreaming.

Such round sounds on the mountaintop