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Where we start, the fourth wall raw without shingles. All
posed sitting on toilets in the front yard. The origin isn’t
quiet. Rebuilt hours, just so someone could ask
can I borrow the keys? She shied away from that nearness,
while I watched from the background. Blue tricycle ran a rut,
ran around in between, ran home mad. Dropping
by on the way, like occasions for the kettle. Charmed,
I watched the top half swing open. Chicken coop,
rhododendron shelter, tool shed, wood pile, and
winter, a wind against which we can keep the door shut.
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