tacky couches, flower prints
bowls made of glass
sunlit blades through knotted brush
a thin, but parted path
the creak of shutters, peeling paint
the grind of wheels on streets
a winding garden laid with stones
a blanket’s warmth, extruding feet
a sudden skirmish, lines of blood
a full-bodied stretch
a chime of bells, a bark of laughter
a long, and well earned rest
the story so far 