existential coffee for breakfast
by the pool there is a buzzing sound
a low fairy hum
always something to build or being built
drawing maps on the backs of our hands
(i count the trees so that i can remember)
on the trail a sudden spell
in the middle of the night
a backyard funeral and
a glass jug with something yellow inside
bubbling
when i go home i will sleep and sleep
false promises of tarts but
the forest will wait
the crows will be nearby
these are the instructions
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