find yourself for Valentine’s—a little
bitten from a barkened
age? This big blue gulf vanished a wealth of
Saturdays. Look how the dry brown
birds are banging. Some
fell in love and warmed it up. Some
like the hounds wished our bones
into wishbones. Some flew
into the foil. Fly clouds. Fly like a
rabbit into a chalkened
coppice.
