in dense ancient oaks,
realistic yet again, but hush
intensely with feathers of red snow,
And we know why we start. And
motion comes bounding, bearing
crack and snap landing
silty tan air with furry curved edges.
Sparkles from stars comfort.
Even echoes racing,
passes, rises, wheezes, drops.
Horizontal dives, silent brushstrokes
sent using wireless time travel
across sandy orange hair.
Evelyn and I wrote a poem together, and then we wrote our own versions.
Evelyn changed the rules mid-game without telling me, so her work is better: Approaching