bus in which I sit
through the window, a tan quilt drapes over a sleeping giant’s body. the arc of a jutting foot, a calf. & another calf, dribbling milk at its mother’s pouch. were the ladder angled differently, the cows could reach the treetops to hide from nomenclature & its maker. invite, too, the centipede, the sparrow, the lady with the little machine. don’t… Read more →