by Ryan Buynak
I find my hope here without fire nights.
and shadow eyeballs.
on the edge of your forest.
this is the place where teachers disappear.
ferns grow invisible.
brown grows black.
and guesses grow grey.
for things like ladies.
forgotten frog friends live in sandwiches.
and I am late for work, all the time.
if. if. if. if. if. if. if. if. if.
you are a century cliff-hanger.
I don’t know a good goddamn salad day.
your thing captures my thing.
the backyard is now west and full of mudbugs.
attention is careful.
I keep my eyes on you.
you watch your way.
street toes and cacti.
I am still a fool.
so are you.
become your favorite.