You break my heart in halves of mind.

Amongst all this witching your peaches don’t smile so soft

like they did in meadowed green, counties far from here.
And the scarecrows are bitten by dogs who don’t know the difference.

I can’t make it seem appealing.

I look for ways to fix this; hum the careful melodies familiar to all eyes,

but there’s nothing to be gained by playing that game.

Give it to me so that there’s something to do during these hours of witch
and all the piles of seaweed to sort through make no mind of me.