stillfugue

I know this crazy
girl / her voice squirrels
around like a fluctuating
car horn with a
dying
bat-
tery.

She is silent often,
but when
she goes,
she goes / it’s slow and
steady and always
breath-
less.

If I listen carefully,
I go crazy with her

as she crawls around on her
belly, sticking her tongue
out at me, and always
surprising
me with a
jump

from her knees to her
tippy-toes, dancing like a
drunken
balle-
rina.

I want to eat meals
with her, watching her
face as she soaks in all
of the chaos
that spins
around
her.

And I want to take naps
with her, but I do not think
she eats or
sleeps.