i remember a tired child brought
parallel to the sun in a moment of solitude
yellow cornmeal sifting through thin pink
glass - filling up the whole. she believed in
these things, these at least were things to believe in;
sunlight's prints on her arm and she tracked them
like a hunter would follow an animal, back into
the back of her own soul and she drank the late late night,
cool and sweet sliding down her throat though it was high
dry summer still scented with warmth and regret and
adults and the simple buttons down her father's good shirt
glittering like a trail of tears while she stared
at her small knees - pale hills goose bumped and poking up
from a yellow dress falling away - cloth and faces coming
towards her in blizzards of dots

so tired but she still knew the world to be worthy
even through weary sorrow,
it regailed her with raw intensity and she
liked this world and knew this world
to be worthy of
her love.