—for Brian Engel-Fuentes

    Father glues the hippo back

    together， as he‘s done before

    when the others broke.

    It‘s no small task.

    Opened envelopes hang

    like cranes on a line. Herons，

    in real life， are bigger but hard

    to make with a piece of paper.

    When Elvis died， nothing

    happened to the weather. Nectar

    toured the planet， nesting

    in the mouths of bees.

    A cello¹ murmurs² something

    about tennis， or sailing.

    Only the walls know for sure—

    they‘re so discreet³！

    Days are short here， nights

    shorter. We sleep

    like blind sailors in beds

    that deliver us secretly home.