none of you

He pushes plush alongside me and prods me, panting–he knows me in the most ways a dog can know a girl. He cares, too, i know, in his doggy soul, if he has one.

Things come along and get left behind, like a constant journey. Picking up, carrying, dropping off, a city bus, a country tractor. Such is life, i know. And the things that define us, that we think matter, only behoove if we look Elsewhere; slightly to the left if it’s too dark to see. Want the Glorious.

Drawing the continents in rotation, sunglasses and yellow bicycle, explaining the difference between frozen custard and ice cream, enjoying the feel of “y’all,” thinking it would be cool to alphabetize those bookshelves but not deeply longing to—-merely to wear who i am? Some new (but had always been there) and some old.

And the days go their ways. How can i be and do? This is my summer.