they’ve never touched
the awful brightness
of kitchen shears.
neither one is
sitting. both are
walking every pool
wall home. both
are spitting stones
like night music
like secrets
with soft baby
ears. they want
people to know them.
a bowl of warm
limes to set them
almost free. here
are their noticings:

when they camp
and don’t charge
a great bear
the ground stitches
itself back
together. when
they play softball
with too small
mitts and pants
their childhood
returns tougher
than cow snow.
there is a chipping
sound to this horizon
line. can you take
the piano apart
again. can we do
what we should
really do and not
get caught