Moon sunken and cloth
His head resting on the crested pillow, a cacophony of arms
Belly, soft and strumming
It’s dal for me tonight, doll
Before me, the trees and the white sky
My brain isn’t so nimble these days?
The stationary platitude, the overlooking, the missing of the joke
But I am well intentioned
Settling in swathes of industrial complacency
And the river, doll, the river
Miles of aggregate paths
Winding through our battles
Preserved and wild
Tended, forgotten
