Line by line, each one's eyes
slowly rolled over stories.
Undulating like the weeds
and greenery they sat on,
floored perhaps, by terror
or boredom (or fatigue, who
knew that endless back-and-
forth well enough to tell?).
Crumpling, rising, for a moment
they lost their loneliness but,
being far too late to fall in love,
had to return (remember, shoes for
the baby) home. And a lucky flower
sprung up and so pretentiously
claimed the land they'd kept.
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