No one is going to figure this out. She thinks. As she slides her pink soles across the cool lawn turning seasons. A glass marble eye. She rolls the world along her smooth surface unending. Breakable. If fishes had wishes. The words like summer air. Mosquito brains. She can't remember the rest of the rhyme. And when she speaks the word into the space just outside herself. She starts at the sound of her own voice. A tongue tricking ice for the first time. Her mouth moves for more. There's a hole, she knows. Just by a tree on the other side of the city. Where she a saw a kitten once. A tangerine peel on a pile of leaves. Where she echoes animal sounds into a place without light. Wild. Without witnesses.