Missing keys rose over fields of
grass.
Silver slivers of lost coins
shone
between the pines. Horses
saddled
with stuff that happened just
last week
galloped along the banks of a
river
that flowed with hair through
fingers,
ice cubes jangling in a glass,
eyes catching themselves in a
mirror.
Air felt like a good crowd.
Shadows
wore their party hats. The
flesh
I roamed my fingers over was a
tapestry of sun roofs down,
jeans hung low, lipstick clinging
to mouth like hands to life raft.
The ground was covered with
the dew of remembered dreams.
Every droplet told its story
before
the sun burned them up listening.
