like grandpa's spine under pressure
from grandma's biker boots. Pops of gravel
as she sprinted down the road dissipated
under a nasty moon blushing red with thoughts
of the sun spurting flares across its face. I sat
on the opposite side of the batch of peridot plants.
No mettle to touch them. Burning nettle tea scratches
The barn stretched behind me, bathing me in black.