speaking alost
the mud on my ankle
made a crusted dust visit.  But
I trust trust and the old frost:

pshhhhhhhhhhhhhh,
part opal, part apple
shoplifted in stride
socked in my skirt pocket
for a monk's life.
Corduroy swishing for the apple
dry skin, dry sky.
The turkey, the prize
the turkey, the turkey.
My sister's belongings
arranged neatly