Folding as they lay in corn fields
talking of seashells like businessmen
talk of money.
The placid sun, unaffected as
the stinging wind rolled sadness
in its whooshes.

Summers where nights were as poetic
as the days, tickling at plastered broken
bones. A smoothie at the back
of her throat like a waterfall
and her smiles were secrets
meant only for the stars.