
call it in the red
I forget, but
carry weathered memories
of outdoor evening wind whirled times
running through mysterious grass
to landings where the moon could
not be higher
call it in the red
I forget
all aside from the dodging disasters
with skin as thick as leather
trenches so wide, with the eyes of 100 neighbours
watching
waiting for mistakes and stories
I don't need stories
the drama within them
I stand at the epilogue with
plans for you yet
if your palm
remains so flat
and smooth
and open as it did
in the sun
that day