I am late picking up MinnyDwarf because I got distracted writing a poem about July. Mini gets in the car and tells us about hobo enchantments and multi dimensional diagonal lines as we drive to work at repertory theater. During the downtime between two plays he takes me to a secret place in the woods where Moss grows on a sandstone mound. I pour from a bag bells and metal goblets that ring and he plays sounds while I read the unfinished poem inspired by this last day of July. He Describes our chat as “benders spooling,” like July in a thread spooling it’s self into the field recording.
