I walked a mile for a red cent and some hope.
Amid the conflicting images-
snatches of boyhood
and finding your letters at the bottom of garbage heaps
- i tried to gather some love for you.
You, who I don’t know.
Who I mirror
Who’s violence I remind them of.
I think wellness is in your shed.
Part of it, at least, can be found
in that coming together
and finding of tools- pink and blue.
And I remember being happy
on a couch, you and I
laughing
my head on your chest.
