It rains down. Love, I will not marry you. I haven’t been asked to though my answer spins so, as the girl in sneaker-skates
There is no fording that wide river or even seeing the other side, the ferry’s terminus. No promises only memory: I can’t live there.
Evening and their calls echo down these hills of oak, eucalyptus, screams, high pitched, urgent– we give them words instinct, warning, longing. Safe