One nap-time,
she pulled back the curtains of her glare,
let her sadness go naked.
Layla doesn’t give mirrors a chance
to catch what’s alike and not alike.
She became one with the clear rain,
curled into laughter on the skyline,
she knew the wolf’s kiss was dangerous.
First to arrive, a knight
carrying baskets of myths,
wiping away alone-ness.
Oh, the running away of names from their names,
and the end of questions where they start.
I whispered in autumn’s ear,
“Hide from the seasons’ calm.”
Rain stitches the earth a shirt
for those naked with certainty.
