Niccilo

you tie your words together         like loose thread, leaving   nothing left to trip over: no trail to follow.          your voice is shallow, heartbeat     steady as the cadence of the second-hand.            Away from the window,                 admission flows forth like mercury.         yes, i held my breath. yes.                 i can still smell the earth;             can still imagine the vignetted         insouciance of spring             bursting into sepia life        like the birth of toads. [some things are not so soon forgotten.]        i want you to know, sunflower             intimate with the ba