Well then

at dusk the neighbor ninjas battle in our front yard: the older with wooden sword, his sister with y-end stick to catch and push.

later a picture on the internet: my father, age 11, and his brother, bundled against the cold, contort their faces for the camera, gnash their teeth and stick out their tongues in a present 53 years ago.

at night
when I put her to bed, she tells me she wants to be daddy. she sings a song. she falls asleep
on her own.

at night I drive &the singer on the stereo strumming sadness in drones and Microphone clips until accordian rhythm wrapping chords on the swerving road a clear clear moon a moon moon a floor tomming moon moon mooning clear clearing dancing in and out of the trees dancing:
   dark and light, moon and night, before it sinks behind the warehouse.

in the morning the neighbor kids dress like ninjas and battle in our front yard: the older boy with wooden sword, his sister with y-end stick to catch and push.

in the morning we push toward an end.

in morning trees in harsh sun make roads flicker like 8mm film, 53 years old.