tree story #18: Teletype
We had played half our lives at horses and house,
treasure and train wreck,
before that day when we were twelve:
He leaned toward me, then sprinted into the wood
my lips trembling with his taste
his calf curving again and again into a dash,
a Morse code I could not read.
I watched as though through panes of glass
his form, sliced by the shadows of trees
exactly the way slats of Venetian blind
carve the warm interior of a room into slabs
served up to any chance passer-by.
written by Susan Hennies
