swollen pond

i went a-skating last spring time in the old swollen pond when the rain was melting the antifreeze and the ponies crawed the morning to a morning where i was a-skating.

that was nice. said a little toothied man on the end of my foot. he said hello to the winter on that day and drowned in the muck and puke until i lent him my hand and returned a.... what was a favor for something?

he hadn't remembered and neither did i attempt to figure out the answer for--you see--we were witnessing the inevitable between us on that cold spring evening.

the air was clear for the first time in an anytime and no longer did we have to shed our rain coats for feeling. it was time--now--to search for something beyond our blueblack toes that burned away a fire.

it was time to climb abroad. to whistle the mountains until they stood prone and stepped us to the western most hemisphere of our expenses. when time anewed the night before and a gallop from her mare.

i want to breath another's air, he said to me as we crossed the swollen sea. i want to hear another's care. and i let him as i told him. old friend, roll aboard; and look on toward...