once on an evening, she blew tree bark up my nose
and my head fell out my ears, while my mind sunk into my ribs.
i jumped into the ocean and swallowed breathes of salt water,
then lost my green shorts in the surf.
as i grow older, i find the first sighting of fireflies fuller,
thicker, more significant, more dense.
they flicker over the fields and i take them in,
replace my thoughts with insects,
replace my objects with actions,
my life with hers, yours, his.
i go home and sleep, listening to the scuffles,
just sounding like raccoons,
really being feelings.
That surf, where you lost your green shorts? That surf is just the tides changing. Hold on tight, lovely friend.
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