(so there was that time on the rooftop
in the butterfly garden)

the circles have all become
patterns, or already were,

enough anyway that i lie, say
i knew them before they
came back,

& you
believe me.

we (give them up later,) swallow warm
beers under the bleachers

behind dugouts
together

where
no
body
knows
that we
even exist

now i have to buy
shoes i can climb in, reach
rooftops (or navigate gardens) alone