among the torn silks of phrase

music: house of diamonds, bowerbirds
mood: forsythia; forsooth

he reaches his hands up to the summer leaves; their soft-shape shadows between his fingers twisting with the streetlamps. and i walked around today thinking about memory maps and the city (the co-relative distances of near and far). bouillabasse creatures, the humming winds of citadel hill, reconstructed clothing. sunlight. but here, i want to say, with my arm stretched out long and bare like branches, here is the very where. oh where. how to fit such things on the paper.

cxxxiv. forget-me-not

forget-me-not (frideles) contains neither correct heat nor correct cold. it holds not powers useful for humans. it is like a weed and is not valuable as medicine. if someone should eat it, it would do
more harm than good.