Do you want an earring? Do you want
a sweet? Do you want a garland of flowers
thick as husks, like pearls of teeth?
Do you want to stroll on the pier,
sit on the bridge in the rain, dangle
your feet in water slick as oil?
The slugs in the garden have been
so patient at their work, embroidering
holes in the leaves while we slept.
Drink up: let’s wash our faces while
we can in this waterfall, where words
for loss and finding are braided ropes.
In response to Via Negativa: Idler.