if i put it out of my mind
(she was always like that
moving between the sunshine and uncertainty)
he yells at her up until she goes pale
then resumes his job as a painter
painting all the fire hydrants yellow
within a certain framework
(and she wouldn't always feel so good all the time
but over the course of the day she'd forget
the dancer in her run amok
and from the forest edge he'd come)
returning home's not to be construed
as anything resembling a tender mood
stay in my orbit though it's lacking
going of another day is bobbled and caught
and she says nice things to go to sleep
like charles comfort and mimico creek)
the nocturnal shh of the saboteur whispering
there's nothing counterfeit about the summer"