Wreaths of old neighborhoods
tangled with lit bulbs and dangling swingsets
mustache over the eyes
bright worlds in the dusk of thicket shade
seesaws on the sail's mast
a ship of pipes and pipe cleaners
airport paths stumbling through the body
key chains glinting in black mud
rocks winding higher in the hills
where their high walls tilt
to the ascension of shrooms and brown rabbits
wide rocks running with water
from broken moss and dripping caves
tape players built in to a red clay wall
blasting fog and pine needles
through the funnel of a team of bodies
a ditch of yellow roses
reflected in the plan of their eyes
the grid shanked by thorns before blossoms
ribbons at the bottom touchless tied
bells winking like the end of a computer's day.