A middle-sized giant came along

who wanted to thump me. The birds

ranted a lot. The boys invited

 

morning to be a fixed ladder. Not the big one.

I must climb over it, sadly.

But I do want to have you,

 

for he seems to conceive the slightest

contact as licence to think down in.

I hit it with a maul.

 

Or I slept under a desk

dreaming the forest’s elbows were salmon

and the ice thawed. Because you involved me.

 

 

 

 

June 30, 1988, 08:40, after taking off from Samara. Multiple incidents.