silyosha

The trees are encased in sweet clear bubbles like candy and I am in one. My feet reduced to water by fragile green toungues bobbing, cool. I imagine they taste of wet mint. The rays must curl the branch tips and reddish berrylike buds with rectangular heat. Only the icy black pockets combed breaking mint hairs left untouched and asleep. There was a mess here ten hours back. I go to sit in the first ray and wonder why my eyes aren't naturally wet at this time of day. Suppose they are. I want to crush a scoop of earth from one of those dim bitter hollows, spaces from inside trees, between my fingers and was