one day out wandering the path behind crayola's quonset i
found her in a tree describing the sound of john coltrane's

horn to a barn cat & that little girl viva who used to beg
for shoes, i can't remember her words exactly but a deep

drone filled the air like a cedar taking its first breath after
years of waiting for something central to say, something

certain, like crayola's eyes as she presented viva w/the tin
foil that would assist her in welcoming the voices beyond.