While the sun is out, drain the water spout to the basin. 
A spider crawls about. Your mom brings the crates in, 
those yellow crates in. While you're three years old, go 
fly to the moon for the summer. It's not all that cold; 
you won't need a jacket. It's not all that far away  
leaving right now, it won't take a day. You can find your 
way by constellation. While it rains outside, fold the 
couches down for the wedding, under couchfort by 
candlelight with an action figure bride. Tell the dolls 
not to be late. 'Blah blah blah blah' will officiate. The 
stage is an old milk crate covered up in a sheet fresh 
from a drying. While the back trees sway, shine your eyes 
this way for a moment. I've not much to say, and my 
language, you've yet to begin it. So I'll stick to 
lullabies, keeping it simple in compromise. At your 
childhood's demise, maybe then I'll tell you more.