The pulled out stops are as gutted fence posts, shattered shards too shifty to hold up any barbs. Split like a slick in paradise, like a lost horizon in heat. Take the gate hinge for example, old and rusty, cringing its story into afternoon’s hot glare. wwrrrick-wwrrreck. A lizard darts across my shadow, as the sun raises the heads of grain in the field, and calls for a long pause, and a cool drink. See how the sedges at the shore are a basket of fools, reflected scum and scurry, a glass bottom moat. I would be fish, fresh water and clever scaled. I would let thunder roll off my fins. I would comb the bottom mining rubies and pearls. I would cover your eyes. I would be visible. I would sing a silent dirge. I would dance on your skin and bones. Surrender myself on your shore.