fine line of twine
treacherous and serpentine
holds my crumbling mothballed mind
like a crick-crack creepy wall holds its vine.

'twas not always so.
o so recently we still felt
the ground beneath our feet,
the ways the winds and rivers go,
and in warm grass grateful we knelt
in praying pleasure: the world was sweet.

You had a camera
Around your neck,
It seemed tragic somehow.