Crook-armed acacia bark all split and sedimentary, branches dissolving into green feathers without control of air. Shadow like a snake’s back—all mottle and shift.
Sheet metal sun, tally of dead leaves, dogs, a rabbit darting into a slot between wood pile n’ pickets. Little sister tile saw, little
1. Bond’s in the lake with a henchman, and I’m a child again in that crowded pool in the grip of a drowning girl.