Her body traced, the grass
as blades still thrill the circus crowds
--she doubles-up his thin blindfold :asleep
he trains her arms to fold in time

--it's a living these two, she hugs
and he goes along, the lawn
kept bristling and applause.
The wall that lost its way
moves closer but her arms are full.

Her back to the ground
honeycombed for strength :every grave
is stuffed with a bottom
pretending not to hear and he
practices to dream.

All afternoon and my camera
--one finger to restart the world, this time
hollowed out like a mine :the film
has no sunlight or weight

--he's used to it, each breath
clinging to his thumb and she
a thousand fingers humming on his

--one afternoon! and my blood
changing color as if there was a season Afternoon
was grass slowly sharpening :the sky
closer and closer, was a child leaning over
crushing the hard ground with sleep
with a finger, a knife and shadows.