The deep water in the travel poster finds me 
In the change as I was about to back away 
From the idea of the comedy around us— 

I tell the child not to curse the stones:

The one in the bed feels for the other,
The one in the mill is alone with the wheels,
And in the field, one figure just keeps going.

But he couldn’t drench the black.
So, he painted what he owed it

I feel free to kiss your eyelids.
                  I remember

Afterwards. The words meander through the mirror
But I don’t want them now, I don’t want these
      abbreviations.

Shrouded in a haze of personality like a perfume.

An intensity that overwhelms the things I wanted to say to
      you

The song of the neighborhood children.
Seeming like something that hasn’t really started yet

Into disappearance
The leaves let go