you are space, you are a gecko
you are everything but simplicity and peace

under garden umbrellas you cloud the sky
behind a semi-secret number you draw apart the shades

what can you do with an invention like that?
start with the ping-pong ball, with your heels?

gurgling and seething under the lid
September burbles by, the mornings crackle, the same

soiled or inconsolable
I would burrow into out-jointed strata

in an anechoic chamber
I would fall like a dry leaf.