there was a sanctuary, parents voices
over a leaning wooden fence
as something to be thrown very
far away    (a stone that looked
like the severed beak of a vulture,
perhaps)    there was a playhouse--
more of a shed actually
but just as real to me,
and her, and occasionally them--
and a rotting green carpet four inches deep,
pieces removed from the roof
like teeth in a nightmare

eventually we outgrew it, like writhing
things from a soft body    we
left holes in the weak walls.
a second mouth opened on
my ring finger and then bled.
outside from inside became an abstraction;
something to be pensive about.
the sanctuary, the shed, the parents,
her, and myself all went
impressionistic--a smear of dreams
and polluted memories
from a very soft body.