well that blue-green gloam 
takin eyes and pushin back against 
thick smoke and that little spot where
bamboo grew in your
grandma’s yard, 

it does something. it takes something and
it moves quick from 
real to gone and 
swift against our legs it pulls hard 
in that room.

well i looked over at the wall and
laid my head back; dust and sheets and 
cloudsoft comfort and
red eyes movin slow against your own 
and 

well i can’t say much but there wasn’t 
much to say.