Fare

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.