Today a bee, who thought my hair was a flower, landed on salt-sprayed blond. Visible to me, my hair hanging down in front, his burred legs tangled. He wasn't agitated as I watched in amazement. When he became free he turned to my face, then flew off. We understood each other perfectly. I wonder, what kind of flower am I?
The Stand-In said
near the jetty.
Walking Silver to Walnut. Where are you? Why can't you read yourself? Trains...you know. It was set up. Everything was in place. And then they sent the Stand-In. I counted 51 clouds today.