the lingering scent
of sharpened pencils
spring night
 

Buddha statue
its shadow stretching
for the candy dish
 

The Forbidden One

We take turns running down the street, following the nightly mosquito truck. Whoever gets closest to the fog of spray goes first in the next game. We crawl on our hands and knees under a break in the dense thicket, emerging in a snuggery of twigs. Dark and cozy, yet just enough dusk light left to see. Without a word, without touching, we form a circle, sit cross-legged on the cool dirt floor. I swallow a giggle. e only sound, the buzz of insects, and the old coke bottle, spinning and spinning.

seed bank
the mating dance
of swallowtails