my backyard acts of bravery. They are unimpressed.
In the gold-green twilight the farmer diligently waters
his stock. Contented lows echo far into the darkness.
In commerce watering stock can bring down corporations.
In the kitchen watered stock makes for damn thin soup.
I displace the air as the wind displaces me. Do I come to
these words, they to me, or do we each arrive here separately?
Tiny new moon hangs in the sky an illustrated
comma in a manuscript copied over in invisible ink.
