Bind me with rain,
Give me soothing comfort as
fraud from the driver between my legs
makes me hot and unclean
during sleep.
What strange guests await in the sea before the house,
gaudy on their local ships?
Give me good help and put me down
in the park.
Let me produce vines to depend on the place.
There is no sense of operation.
And the strangers come.
Their teeth have been refined.
Their hands are swift.
Miniature Moon 