they’ve never touchedthe awful brightnessof kitchen shears.neither one issitting. both arewalking every poolwall home. bothare spitting stoneslike night musiclike secretswith soft babyears. they wantpeople to know them.a bowl of warmlimes to set themalmost free. hereare their noticings: when they campand don’t chargea great bearthe ground stitchesitself backtogether. whenthey play softballwith too smallmitts and pantstheir childhoodreturns…