When it went wrong, we moved southto a town with strange birds.We beganto sell clothes.I widened the thighs of jeans.You fit the right hat to the right head.We became known in the townfor the sadness of our smilesand the durability of our hickory cloth,with which we covered kneesand elbows.
We never got anywherebut we had the apartment above the store,enough for food, and I like to imaginesome heap in heaven of prevented scars.At night we dressed up for each other.Lost in the cottons and breaking silks.When I imagined your navel,I saw a perfect buttonhole,Then I saw a perfect button.