long long wavy mane with grey,

my sometimes inner landscape is like, a sunny day on the sidewalk

in a small city in massachusetts that i've never been to.


misplaced resistance to sentimentality, for example over cheap objects

i collect rather than interactions or 

interpreting chronic longing as for the wrong thing.


growth is not symbolic, the richness of what you really like,

holding up a finger into a mouth a long time ago, quiet shining, 

where are the people i'm most vulnerable to

and safe with, still and big and changed already into my fingers.