went down past the concrete, drew the thirsty bucket from a communal cool windfall, and each and every once was simpler, like water, without sunlight or its pet land. eventually we are all branded to belong, across the salsa slick of twirl one to two, three. would like to believe in a history without voice, a dust without trace, but don't. but i don't can't this is what i offer. seeing means finding what can never have been mountain. this, i mourn. this, silent, i balance on my toes with a toe in front then behind, then my hip shifts, nobody sees our, happy about this, my own, (y)our, it, i will die as silent as a punk concert falling in the forest, with nobody around. with every body at attention, because a stadium will be heaven and a flash, i've heard her say through the static of communication. through the dipping leaving no no no churn of a long still well.