when i was little, i thought the sun made the cicadas' sound. i tell you so. you say I'm still little. handle me like to prove it. like a knick knack you've collected. like a pale, flaccid thing suspended in formaldehyde. you hold me to the light to a chorus of 'is it real.' once, i might have been. anyway, you say I'm still little and pull me into your orbit. cheek mashed against the star on your chest, i wonder if you heard what i said about it. i thought the sun sang to me in those long dead canine days of june. you say I'm still little. you don't know how true it is.












