Matthea Harvey is the author of Pity the Bathtub Its Forced Embrace of the Human Form (Alice James Books, 2000). Trouble in the Dyad Though Ed said "You have my word on it" as Diana ate her Ritz cracker, there was something in the way he said it. The shears choked on the bonsai. Little maple, give us this – one day without a weeping bout. "Think!" he thought, irritated by her ex-pensive ways. She had forgotten that eventually skis get attached to something unruly, like a person. There they were, just going along until Di started singing "won't you be my one & lonely?" which is of course when he spotted the pyramid. Equation with Flowers Tomorrow the pink shack will not be in the cornfields where you left it. I put all the rosemary in the salad. When the sun sets, the Oreo truck sometimes strays from its appointed route with only the willows watching & perhaps a horse. Clip clop – where's the narrative? Somewhere a frugivore is sitting on its perch with juice matting its chin. The meringues were already cloud-palaces, we didn't need the greasy telescope to mother- of-pearl the sky. I can't write haughty essays or join Scotland Yard in its never-ending search for some one-syllable gem while there are still apples in the world. Do you remember that itch. Even a fraction of it.