there is a place where the

there is a place where the
logic and the concrete cease to matter--where
the weeds will grow and shake your
hand and the fences are stained with rust and
fingerprints of drink-deep men and flower-chain children--this
place is spotted with sunshine and crowned with
leaves.here is the place where the wind will
tell you her middle name,the place your eyes became
my thursday jeans hanging on the clothesline--here is my
you(th) everlasting