45*21

Even though you are thirteen
my eye spies the baby
over on her side of the bed
really quite afraid of lightening
you are my sunshine bringer
calling in the clearest day
little dancer in the yard
aping the moon trolls
right now they are secreting away
in most layered light
onions from the moon
no ordinary night
Kind old man comes up the road
eating a bitter apple
tongue spitting out the peel
can't talk at the moment
has something to wish you
in indian gibberish
so I count
1 and see you grimace, 2 then
3 and watch you disappear behind your door