Dear lost fragment of youthful
exuberance, you left your shoes by the river.
Dear documentary on clouds
assembling, the windows should be moved
to account for climate change.
There is plenty of everything
is a theory I tried to live by once.
Dear fortune-teller, dear runner through the park
at dusk, dear giraffe girl in the clouds.
As theories go it was not very useful.
The branches of the trees in winter
look like waving fingers, motioning
to the power lines get us out of here.
I am in the basement with the hedgehog
and the hamster wheel. Dear hedgehog,
dear repetitive motion, dear rooftops cut off
by the window frame. When I think about
animals, I envy their bodies. Dear basement,
dear setting sun, dear star charts.
Dear constellations, I am renaming you.