“Crash here, Cass.”
Cass from the world’s navel.

your face appears
as if cut off at its ankles.

“Is it okay if I call you–the wind– Mariah?


“Well, all right then.  I won’t.

So you, wind, I mean Cass, rest awhile here.

And as you do, I hope you do
not mind a photograph
surfacing, 1982, of your hair so long,
so black– it’s spooky.

Here’s another pic of your teeth so full of braces, you could die.

And what’s with the suspenders and the poke-a-dots?”


Sleepy Cass, stay awhile and then off you go.
Soon as you can smile again.

“I’ll make some tea.

Oh, off again, already, well, okay, goodbye.”

I guess I’ll drink the tea.


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