He watches her: she doesn’t speak, but only looks
at the summit of his left ear. Her body talks of pains
under her chest bones, lodged deeply
from being watched too often. Robin, fern,
things undone
by measuring their growth.
Burying forecasts: nothing above ground, nothing
beyond the reach of the hand.
In his mind, he finds ropes, ties them to her ankles, tries
to drag her to municipal air. He must have pulled hard,
though — he’s left in waiting, holding the gold feet
of a griefless, lucky girl.
