Pushed by troubled waters
on the periphery; dream
interrupted, you start
coloring your nails differently.

A white moon was not that
white any more. You grow
overnight gray, becoming
older by decades.

Gravel was going for a coup.
Stones had upturned
the river.
Brutus, were you impeccable?

I don't want to travel
back to dark memories,
of a raccoon drowning
a little poor thing.