your arms are held up by two
hydrogen zeppelins the size of watermelons.
your arms are straight up and your hands
turn slowly white, from less blood.
we walk down a green hillside
gradual, with apple and maple trees
occasionally spotting
to slow meanders and oxbows.
i am in a canoe stroking the grass
softly with a paddle.

one cloud
shaped like a fish
jumping from a boat doesn’t move
across the sky.