a white flag

moonlight glints on the silver river. history clutters

cells like decimals repeating, wind footstepping

through a labyrinth of spruces. my skin,

something the sun doesn't want: deliverance

in the land of talk. i'm not trying to complicate

things, only saying that things are complicated.

i was clean and then i wasn't. the summer

our cities gagged on shedding light making

something visible. in the end, being kind

is nothing if it only helps yourself.

for what it's worth, i'm sorry.

it's my fault as much as anyone's.