She has opened her arms to me in Tuesday’s morning on the breastless prairie. Rocks conjoin soundlessly below the stripes of the barber pole. Houses clap like accordions to the vanishing point of old age. I swallow down the cool and rusty ale creaking in a chair. She has opened her alleys to me in Thursdays evening, on the whirling waltz. The sky is making love to the earth but more ponderously as time passes. Plump horses snuffle and harmonize to bring out the light of the fireflies.