A webbed maze of arrows
I drew this
with dying blue lines
Dry erase markers
can be wands
He whispered to me, circling in green, "this is my
house."
I
claimed the whiteboard flat above his.
We
sketched staircases
furniture, trap doors, and attics
Dry erase markers can be
hammers
His
pen crafted
bald-headed neighbors,
a factory,
as I curled
the smoke.
Waving
our markers, we could build anythinganything.
So I gave him feet to run and walk-on & jump-on,
wings
to soar
on
He
brought his green in a downward curve, and I slid over to Beside-Him
Under a green moon
Blue
stars
Erasure
My
mistake (my mistakes)
(he
rubbed off with the pad) I trusted
(of his thumb) my heart with him.
His knuckle
curved up the green line I had slid
down
And
my stacked sticks of a body crumpled
Until slowly belatedly
I
wiped my thumb from his shoes to his wings,
And hesitant,
I went over his face
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