I am in a large house.
A little stairway in the dark
is what I remember best.
Neither better nor worse
than a silly lark.
The large house
smiles to itself, tickled by a mouse
scuttling in its dark
basement. What I remember best
is first the heat and then the thirst.
No larks
fly through this stuffy house.
I’ll wear the curse,
but not before I’ve sucked
a jujube—tasting most
like buttered toast.
Honey bees suck
on a big sunflower behind the house—
sticky disk-florets.
