My dad's senses go,
manual simulators like batting cages,
bikes swimming through swarms of mosquitos,
black shadows against white and square illuminations,
hair sticking to our skin,
the fountain isn't as deep as my surprised fingers thought
i said i saw elbows falling off into the bushes,
flashlights shone at us through the glass maze on the lawn,
mouths moving but neither of us could decipher anything outside of mumbles,
we decided to leave anyway.
Fruit fly traps,
i found myself lost for an hour filming fireflies on flower banks in the darkness of my parents' home,
i forgot the feeling of conscious in summer here
in terms of blood and treasure
with New Words rolling out of your mouth, i turned to find the scissors in the drawer
you repeated it again, asking if i could stop leaning against your knee like that,
and a third time, tonight, "i can't see."
Wondering in the car, on the way to get bomb pops and tomatoes, how long it had been.