Something about wet two-by-fours
feels like home.
Xe sits on a bench, wet from morning dew and mist,
on a boardwalk overlooking a pond.
Two mallards paddle in front of xem—
a slow game of tag or awkward flirting, xe isn’t sure.
Soft croaks from red-legged frogs emanate
from the kinnikinnik covering the ground.
Xe could breathe here.