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Little Sat in the Fields, Eating






Lost had dragged doors

past the wharf,

and Secret took them


all into its boat,

rowed out far

and offered the doors


to dawn in proposal.

Lost dangled ankles

from the pier, celebrating.


Tying the surf in knots,

Someone boarded ships,

saying many snakes


were stowed there.

Secret laughed a long

high-headed laugh.




Lost roomed in the cabin,

sweeping curtains,

collected nervous music


from the floorboards.

The very first fist,

said Secret, had swollen


with songs’ ripped pages.

Plucking walls, Lost

listened, quiet as cream,


lined fingers

with brine-soaked sticks.

Louder then, Tremble


married Still

upon that.  With the dizzy-

rent horizon, Lost remained.




Lost stretched from the couch,

shoving throw rugs.

To Lost, the room looked


blue and crème as the sea.

When the rug fringe poked

Lost’s toes, remarked Secret:


Make a concert of it.

By heart, Lost

leafed it all like sheet music.


Fumble partnered Ease

after that.  And from the long

ear, Lost returned.