You trust your eye. A circumspectrum balls
radiant distances from the ring around
the rosy fingered dawn of time. You all
fall down. A watch-spun sun bounces beyond
the farthest lash of peeled orange skin to lawns
a knotholes reach behind white picket peaks.
The bleached rim of a Frisbee glows upon
tarpaper eavening. You hide and seek
the it (no tagbacks) and ready or not
here you “Come in for dinner!” Mother blares
from the screen door – Valkyrie loud with hot
spoonfuls of dusk and clean-your-plaited hair.
Two pies are sliced on the squared table top
but you can’t sit until the music stops.