we colonized the patio, but first:
sushi with no service. I thought
the sun decided to think about
seeing us through the fog but
got blown up the hillside instead.
he adjusted my cardigan in the
poem. I read it to my father.
then he died. it made me
happy to write.
time to water the plant before
flying. first I wrote ‘lying’ but
that was a gamble. neither of us
are flying. we’re like penguin
wings.
the proof will come in the poetry
database. this was my thought
as I drank a bowl full of roses.
