langu ages

by  L.B. Aaron Reeder IV

on this north side terrace
envelop your creased   letter hand
into the other, and dirty path down
    and back,       return empty
handed, our languages like flies,
desperately miss
glue traps unseen and
like flies   we are attracted to dri-
ed-out apple cores
tossed from cars          she lost grandmother’s
locket, ruby heart,       how do I say,
I have not seen it? but will help her look.