Piled atop of

        glossy : cool, stone, changing

Guardian

Crumpled to make clean

Folded to prop against

Baby, the softest deer, smallest

smallest Taurus

Red apple halved and star

Never saw it, canopy. Said it

was gliding.                         Was it?

Flying up or down?

What strategy?

Like glass starts and stops (

The day is glorious, there is

nothing wrong )

The story, prunes, sings

Trees (she spoke sideways) garden

the root

Trees nourish

“Thinking of you,” I said      (

        Thinking of you again)