i've neglected my sketches.
dear little doe-girl, honking and gooselike, rifling through her ruffled feathers before the mirror, starting, turning, and out the door before i can even step foot inside. frozen in the door frame, nose inside and white cotton tail in the hall, watching me dry my hands, darting.
a bird, greedy for glimmer.
digging so deep wearies my shoulders and eyes, shoveling up history, a ditch into the future.
that's the reason for the small pond. you may be an uncomfortably large fish, but you don't have enough others fish to pick who you rub shoulders with.
