We knuckle the stones to make a road.

The birds cry into our arms as the Sun flickers.

The body heats. We offer the patience we owed.

The ferns drip in sunscreen. Cars bumble. We rode

summer like a bull race. The cabinets belch. Liquors

you held as we knuckled the stones to make a new road,

a dungeon escape. The hoses spilled grief into the node,

the bleached eye of our silence. Grass sliced perfect. Stickers

peeling from the heating body we offer. The patience we owed.

You let weeds sprout from autumn concrete. A crossroad.

We knit feathering time into perfect shadowing, melting figures.

They knuckle our stones and make a road.

Tethered to the labyrinth. The directions we had to download

left us away from the city of riches. El Dorado. The mirrors

we hold as the body heats. We offer the patience. We owed

to relinquish our hope to the flock. Set it free to the glitching code.

Who will leave to the barren land? You aren’t allowed to be bitter

as you knuckle the stones and make a new road.

Heating bodies. Patience. We offer what we owed.