My shadow said to me:
　　what is the matter
　　
　　Isn't the moon warm
　　enough for you
　　why do you need
　　the blanket of another body
　　
　　Whose kiss is moss
　　
　　Around the picnic tables
　　The bright pink hands held sandwiches
　　crumbled by distance. Flies crawl
　　over the sweet instant
　　
　　You know what is in these blankets
　　
　　The trees outside are bending with
　　children shooting guns. Leave
　　them alone. They are playing
　　games of their own.
　　
　　I give water, I give clean crusts
　　
　　Aren't there enough words
　　flowing in your veins
　　to keep you going.