—for Brian Engel-Fuentes

    Father glues the hippo back

    together， as he‘s done before

    when the others broke.

    It‘s no small task.

    Opened envelopes hang

    like cranes on a line. Herons，

    in real life， are bigger but hard

    to make with a piece of paper.

    When Elvis died， nothing

    happened to the weather. Nectar

    toured the planet， nesting

    in the mouths of bees.

    A cello murmurs something

    about tennis， or sailing.

    Only the walls know for sure—

    they‘re so discreet！

    Days are short here， nights

    shorter. We sleep

    like blind sailors in beds

    that deliver us secretly home.