"son gone" #26

Hands we need eyesight hard mirror no deal and over laughter a sumptuous thought as incredible as doubt. You faint. Bring some ice. Good news, I guess, to run or fly, be held and hold — still evidence or instinct or reason sulk. How many remain at distance? The cider for the cry. Burst breath distract us. A moment overwhelm'd and sad. First surf lessens, vertigo rain too, suddenly.