I hate to say it,
I hate to write it here
in ink, so acutely-
but
they say
we're on the cusp of
confine!

I don't know
what we'll do if we can't
count on the wild wind
to
wake us. I don't
know what we'll do
if we can't count on
the wild, whip-poor-will
to
lull.

Tell me!
What will the left behinds
do
when the rains(reigns)
wash away
all the tiny
roses?

e.campagna