Hey, window sill.

 Hey, window sill. I was looking out for talking some sense.

I was looking out for a good steal. I waddle over to the edge of the doorway. We repaint once the life of winter regroups. I saw the world into five roughly equal parts. 

My mother, at 67 years old, tried to rearrange the refrigerator, magnets and all. Six weeks later in the hospital. I had lived in a rented room on north Pecan for 6 and a half months. Money from the IRS kept things easy for me. My decisions were limited, or I was limited in my decision making.

The house had a pecan, in the back corner outside of the fence. Mom's place was mostly oaks.

The scenery of my desk made mistakes, such as this.

As bright as autumn afternoons in south central Texas, my hoping eyes delivered prizes. I picked up a pine cone, reminded of 4th grade.

My best friend was Hermes, though no one knew that. We made a game of waiting outside for the next class after lunch. Hot orange bricks. Little grass blades float on the breezes. Where did we go when we knew all of this would be over?

So I had Hill Country Fare whole milk in the fridge. I had 2 red onions. I had leftover chinese dumplings. I left abruptly. Too much later, I lay limp in the dark on my old bed, replying to a text from Rosie my landlady.

I spent almost a minute on each word.

Luckily, in the morning, all was forgiven.

The rakes bred the fed coffee, soldier towers, the real saint factors

purple swam swans greet filantropía

on the road from six am to eleven

seven sisters running water the sincere black child's Watch.

The End