Watching the island's moat fill up
around the town square
chiseled granite prodding a clay bulb
tires on string circling a sand box
cream skies wagging a faint gate
to the backwards body
hopping from hill to hill
pine sticks tickling a court side slab
the thorns of a flying vine
that maps the heavens
and chains to hold a rubber seat
as it swings the guts and laughing guise
of a younger world.