Like lemurs the small boys clung to their mom.
She came through the door the guy ahead of me
opened quick for her, saying thank you to break
your heart and the kids' hearts and any other hearts nearby.
I keep starfish near my pens.
My lamp, drained of tequila, gives a good light.
An ancient barometer hangs near.
Water and wine I take in an old enamel cup.
There's no glory in new furnishings.
Go along the river until you reach the trees.
Assemble a small place from what you find there.
Live four seasons alongside.
Be quiet and listen to the water.
Children, suspecting your kindness, may appear.
If you've never known opportunity this will be its shadow,
stopping the light from entering the sticks of your door.