Knocking smooth white riverstones against a pane of glass
The photocopier,
a riverstone whetted against a pane of glass
Leaves pressed to the
sticky winter road
(the tree sneezed
a jackpot of leaves)
lustre sleeping in the wrinkles
in the w--
there is no fog in the
morning this winter
pillowcases
a l--
a letter from my mother
an extension of your fingers
to learn green by heart. Orange.
What left me alive
took the carpet from my feet
You blinked
another page filled with words.