shade eyes with their New York Times. Underground vibrations
shiver bones and elevate thoughts. As moments are entered,
they remove their boots. Trying to still
a man stoops; becomes farsighted. Details approach.
Violin strings snap loose, the feverish kind, until lenses refract.
A strange power to tug, tweak and tune quietude with an extending
bow towards fields where horses resolve.
The caretaker in rhythmic strokes brushes my hair, ties a ribbon.
Those days I was impressionable,
feared god and my parents. Today
it is a relief to rid batteries from a robot
and let it run wireless.