I've tried to learn the names of hours—there's wool. There's red currant. There's eyes-in-the-night-window. There's nothing. Like goinghome in a dream—four feet of wet towels in the kitchen.There's quilt smother. There's pleasesmile. You've come so far. Now walkthe property line—and, sometimes, feel alive.Imagine new orchards, blackberry tangleslike good, thick hair, and being lovedin a ragged floral print. The stillnessin a river-glass pendant. Body-warm, green.Some strength for now, on a thin life of twine.