The dabbling fish typically nest in tidal nowhere locations/deep in creased mud; I find two natural friends in the way to the sea. The city that slowly leaves and glows through the hills is thinking hard/cannot attract the kinds of friends I have. There are two of us wrangling through switchgrass. Words of home are like bright thoughtful birds amongst sheets of sky when in the dark nest; where am I & is that place the most empty/it is packed with two brains thinking. A spark is a child/do I make a completely new thought just by blinking/we keep rings around our eyes. We make a hurt smile with two people in it. The city cannot think & has not sit since it woke up. I felt its wires when digging in damp earth; I met earth with damp hands & reached until shoulder for new fish. I lost my friends in damp grass & with hands covered in scales. There is always a humming.
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