Clad in indigo
Clad in indigo, the past’s presence holds firm to the railing,
a reminiscent grandmother picks us up and turns the pages of childhood stories:
of glee, shame, and the meaning of family.
Ahead, skipping up steps, facing forward, off the page,
we follow a little girl, rekindling youth, dressed in red,
she grips our hand and pulls us into the surest unsure we’ve ever known,
always two steps before us, exploring–
Concert’s over
Closeness-stickiness of humid humanness
urges the closeness-stickiness of humans,
among the crowded crowd
threatening minds not to bow
to anything but selfish cares-
in the woods? Would you care
never seeing me again, girl?
I, aware of your presents
indwelled in your presence?
With females flopping round?
Called to bend, mend,
Or scare scared hearts
all but dead bleeding?
Lights fade-intending to return to my tent.