The story of a girl
who can be found
on scraps of art paper,
against the chill of the open window
& the songs of birds,
surrounded by those lying aloud
who should be dreaming.
She steeps, readies her words.

The boy
who creaked down stairs
to empty his bladder
which was sadder, his nightmare
or his parents lying awake
back to back
while birds cracked on
and on as if
there was no where out there.

The wonder
of engines raced beyond exhaust,
garbage trucks, reverse beeps,
laps round the block
as though everyone’s lost,
from endless counting sheep.
Line them up
against the chock
& jump the errant sun.

Kerry inspires the Real Toads to write preludes inspired by T.S. Eliot.