Constantly Untangling Cranes

And growing. but only in circles and dark wrinkled membrane. Many rooms through out a day are empty and perfectly placed, waiting for visitors and shoeless sitting in.
If I could just tousle and let my hair. If I could just care deeply and act with such intention. I seem to grab at suffering with clothes hangers. So many coats are added to the rack. So many bags and pillows in the back seat of my car. No room for the baby.

In the gap of transportation people dash cross streets.

I am untangling cranes and changing hand towels and wiping crumbs off the bed.
Your belly is the sweetest softest rest in. Under these sheets time is only. Fleeting Thought. What would you do? I sit in mountains. I walk alone.

Everyone is an empty row boat.