Innocent,
adorable,
exactly like a lie,

arisen from a millisecond
of peace and control,

sitting there to now be sent
to somebody, somewhere,

to give a window into my
yard,

which I own,
and yet, which I am trapped from

inside this mind’s walls, which I
built, I assume,

like the letter I constructed,

I assume,
last afternoon,

in some other life.