The
two
little
girls
catch me
striding to
the door. ‘Where are you going?’ they ask, standing
up. ‘Hunting,’ I say smiling, and leave for
the beach. ‘What’s he hunt for?’ they
ask my wife, their aunt. ‘Poems,’
she says ‘for words.’ ‘Where?’
Their voices doubt. ‘In
the very shape of
things,’ she
says
~~ Matthew Arkapaw
