I Under the lindens, a boy. Beside the graveled walk, a girl. He watches her— this is as it has always been. She cracks
I am the king of the rust and the blanket-curtains heavy against cracked glass. I rule the wind, shuffling mail like cards, spilling out
Merced, Autumn Sunsets, crows head west in low sparse flocks, loose groups crossing the sky towards the glow, rays gilding valley oak and beeches