| Field Games | |||
|
I bring bags of chamomile tea He
says as a child he picked chamomile at his mother's house Chamomile trapped in gauze in a beer stein with hot water When he wears brown his eyes He
pokes the bag On
the mountain, I say Later
when I press him The
chamomile of his eyes hidden under brown He
disappears behind green galvanized plastic with yellow bands Later
I can see almost Chamomile
grows everywhere Should
talk to him about his mother, he needs to feel safe with me Peeping out of gravel words and field games |
|||
|