In raw silk and things of
that ilk; Audrey breakfasts.
And with Ava, a little,
the sun also rises.
In the eyes of cats,
friends in hats,
suede boots; Inuit hue.
In tabards blue (it’s true)
and so often in this,
but always in that.
In George, generally,
a name to attack,
to inscribe on a back
-ward thinking philosophy.
Over the knee socks
(in memoriam, she rocks)
and ear muffs lock
my eyes to absence.

And inside.
Oh yes,
always inside.


~ EB