Light falls deft and drifts over
girl mouths; hesitancy hardens the
etched and frozen angles of
parabolic hyperboles and
the beginnings of an isosceles triangle
consisting art of pigs in masks.
Everywhere there's
faith but she's
pulling left, pulling
west towards a
nondimensional peace that doesn't
prove anything.

Underneath everything there are
down-feathered babies keeping
time unconscious,
pulled towards violation of
compromise and sifting the
honest from the lonely.

High graffiti's been
lettered as obsolete but still I
move hands over water and let
stillness wonder at her and the
eyes that know the gravity of
situation and her own
initials sketched in sand.