The reorganization of dream clothes, the inevitable circle the rainbow display can make. The inevitable dismay can make. My impossible love.
We walked along the muddy path, making erosion all the more knowable. The dogs in their short legs, prancing, or raging, or lumbering along, and our hands holding to stop feet from eroding down the slippery slope. Across a log across a creek, "the confluence, the confluence!" The brambles in my gray tights, o favorite gray tights, and a hole and arunning up and down. The freezing such running water makes in air surrounding. Muddy boots, laced up with mud, socks, pulled up to knees by mud. The muddy man riding through on his muddy bike, the lightfooted dog leaping over muddy flows. I looked around, and there, in the sun, freckles & eyes of tiger and soft midsections. The colors, and the colors. You & I in reverse symmetric eternal rainbow closet organization style. Thanks for the dreams, brains.
