An apple orchard;
slim pathways on the hill
in the near distance
have turned blue
in dawn light.
I tell blonde Alice
I’m going to head out
to take photos.
Where? She asks.
I say anywhere
they jump out at me,
and she laughs
as if I’m chasing rabbits.
The valley we’re in
is like a bowl
and we’re Rice Krispies characters
wondering whose mouth will devour
us before we can pull on
our red striped socks.
With the sun
in a back pocket,
we shake off a lurid night’s drunk,
a night that clacked and bobbled
like a bag of jellybeans
in the hand of a fat freckled
10 year old.
We hold ourselves
on the brink
of two sides of life,
hesitating
before the loss.
