Minor

Blue, out of it:
A memory of our car floating,
the flood nudging us downtown

Every moment of my childhood replays
like a movie from really high
up: longshot, overhead strolling

There used to be a lot more grass
on earth, a lot more trees, a lot more
baseball diamonds I’m sure of it

A girl showed me her
quail’s speckled eggs, soft & baby
blue, then cracked open like a secret

A pedal lifting silently off the floor,
A kiss rolled up into a verb,
The diner or the memory of one

South as I ever been
we saw a toad the first night
then vanished simply

I kept having nightmares
about the snake, & about calculus
like a teenager

There used to be more trophies too, & squeezing
of eyes barely shut when you were young
in the backseats of cars

Rivers were always traversed
even before knowing bridge
A memory unfinished with you