This is how it happened: associatively and with feeling. In the trees, I crouched, adhering, quick. There was a bucket, so I kicked it, took a wicked licking at stopgap. My stance steadlong and headfast, I was asked to leave — make my takeaway and say hell no to the hedge. They never forgave the broken plate I refused. No longer their baby, from then on I was B. Somewhere, anywhere else. No risk for the watered, no wear for the warned. Instead of listening, I lessened and lessened, then nothing was left. Nothing to identify or inside me out. Just a bright and liquid surface with no edge — infinity pool tricked out with a system of interlocking sparks. What we tuck away we plug away at in the dark. The clock strikes none, the glass won’t run, interior bonded, bronzed.