i met you in my old room this morning
purple costumes on the floor those childhood
gowns you wore in the forest gathering
ferns to sell to visitors
as if you could buy all that away
maybe it was playing at capital maybe
it was wanting to receive those round
acorn tops in exchange to whistle with
position between your two thumbs carefully
blowing a shrill cry
that traverses the rotting log, your storefront counter
and into that house
down the hall where there are portraits
hanging