The trees do not belong here. The dirt’s all wrong. You’re outside in a stranger’s car, wearing a stranger’s shorts. Your legs are not your legs and I’m barefoot, running after you. The palm trees are out of place. Your pigtails are the wrong color. I’m all hot and wet and quiet when you cross the street. And the tress move away from us. And there is a humid ringing. The wind carries some music. I don’t know why there’s an ocean. I cross the street and then there are no trees. I’m singing you a song. I’m drinking ocean water until I’m sick. You say THE PALM TREES DO NOT BELONG HERE. I am struck by a cinderblock. Your legs are still not your legs. My skin stings all over, my song is not the ocean. Your back is smooth. The palm trees do not belong here. Our backs are pressed together. Your hair is not your hair.