you tie your words together
         like loose thread, leaving
   nothing left to trip over: no trail to follow.

          your voice is shallow, heartbeat
     steady as the cadence of the second-hand.
            Away from the window,
                 admission flows forth like mercury.
   
         yes, i held my breath. yes.
                 i can still smell the earth;
             can still imagine the

vignetted
         insouciance of spring
             bursting into sepia life
        like the birth of toads.
[some things are not so soon forgotten.]
              
        i want you to know, sunflower
             intimate with the baked
        clay of the earth;  i do not speak
             with you and hear the parlance

              of victims-
                     but of vines.