I was up in the mountains in wintertime -- colorful holiday season -- ice skating with my family. And then she was there, colored in quarters like Harley Quinn (not that I ever saw anyone dressed like that in life). Two of the quarters were red, and the other two were some other color (not black).

She danced around me and in and out of trees. A dreadful tease to hug me so. So over her shoulder and down I looked, into my hand where lay a book meant for me to read.

Out of that book poured the most beautiful poetry that loses its coherence upon waking. For all it's worth now, I could have been reading "Kilroy speaks the truth. One mouse could never eat it all."