My stills are placed in weave with
latticed branch and your day songs
crammed full of colorlessness,
angles not so perfectly met,
white black keys rolled
comme l’arco lit above lazed street.
We stood for just two and
you wrote in familiar language fresh
that she’d prefer none at all
impressed in dusty emerald or limone.
I traded for these
sun-faded stucco sloping
and cool tile lain to sea.
because I have loved them,
loved them like I have the colors of the 60's
and shapes of horizontal bodies.