Woods already turning brown, from the carpet up; half moon tilted on its side in the pale blue sky. So raise the black pennant high, stripe of green, for sentiment, divided, two skunks rampant. She in her hood of green, minding her stacks, I, in mine of black, watching the executables, each marked with an x, in data centers where scant light enters. Each thinking of violence & sex, obliquely or straight on, a fullness or a lack. The leaves are almost gone.