i sowed a new planet
in the dust of our lake.
body of water.
were you also dried 
by the sun's new dress?
it looks cheap on her.
full of all the fishes who tried 
& failed at having legs.
breathing like skyscrapers.
i look down & see a bustle dying out. 
that summer i saved all my shed skin
for a future form.
believed too aredently
in rebirth. made preparations.
backpacks of lotion. oranges in a bowl.
tubs & tubs of water. the new planet
will be inverted. trees grow downward.
rain leaps upward into clouds.
mothers stand at the edge of the yard
& dream of fences. how far
can you throw a rock?
i consider breaking a neighbor's window 
to warn her i'm about to 
trade the moon for a platter
of steamed shellfish. 
palm of melted butter. i give you
a knife & explain where 
to dig the well. through the basement 
underneath the washing machine
that hasn't spit in weeks.
everything is breaking
& needs to be replaced. 
it is very human of me 
to hold hands with trees 
& conspire against their dirt.
i whisper, "we could go 
anywhere." the tree sighs
& waits for me to leave
so she can braid her hair. 

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