Upturned chin, face falling into sky
from earthy bed, mind descends
invisible in tall grasses
No cloud stains this endless blue
that sweeps the view, a seamless puzzle
each piece holds a million possibilities
my eight year old heart strains for a place
and knows this can’t be all there is
a hated voice calls from cool recesses
try to stay here with this lovely hurt
a soupy pathos vain poems enflesh
when something’s left outside
with shoes by the back door.
