not the puddle of black water my dunlop sneakers fall into,
not the cold wet between my toes,
not the lime green tailshirt popping out of her olive green pants,
not the pink flowers of eczema on her arms,
not the milisecond wait before the sloan automatic tap washed the dirt and sin off my hands,
not the concrete blocks everywhere under my feet,
not that anyone would know what i mean,
not the caterpillar of clouds that ran along an invisible branch off the invisible trunk that propped up the moon,
not anything.
Divagyrations 