a yellow tree, a street sign blinding, crushed beach plums, water - murky water, spiny water, gasoline water, water cold like an oyster knife
the setting sun embodied, made material in the slow flash of a sliding glass window
early morning smoke settling between my nose and throat, the whip of fronds on the coast
grass as lawn, grass as path, grass as reservoir for memories of fireflies and gnats and the way my brother begged me to tackle his padded body, shoulder to chest, blinking back tears, our muscles meeting in a middle space that neither of us could ever reach alone
moments slippery and solid like cornstarch pudding, immaterial, sculpted, fading, unlosable, goldening, goldening, goldening.
