It is a helpless progression, heliotropes follow the movement of the sun to a chain linked tomorrow. Half-spoken confessions fill a pond deepened by the beveled solitude of stones and their heavyhearted descent.
Beyond the fence we trespassed shoeless and waded until cuffs of denim unrolled upon our ankles. When I turned toward the sun I was alone, the surface still memorizing the acorns you had offered to the green-winged dragonflies and hurried minnows.
I listened to the wooded afternoon: the ancient howls from clambering bedposts and clawed mattresses, murmurs mistaken for invitation.