The venetian cuts the sad,
I knit with it.
There is an endgame between us.
I somersault,
you cartwheel.
We nijinsky through the afternoon,
me, the snake plant and the fish.
We are familiar here,
armored against the free fall,
your hair is in a cleanline room.
Conjure far away,
I am a sunflower gone.
I wish I were with you.
