Rufus hummingbirds mark their territory huffed up like sophomore boys at the last dance in spring. The rains last so long no one thinks of corn.
Sunflower seeds sit on the counter untouched.
We wear wool socks to bed one week before June. Today I told your story, the one about the lost poems. In another spring you knew where to hide when science class sent you on a forced march. Once I hid in a garage until the people looking for me quit calling, their voices settled on evening until their echoes sparked in a night so quiet each trace showed the face of someone burned twice. No luck falls too fast, no bells ring too soft to hear.