They grow in the corner,

Catching water like me,

with praying hands like me.

Making the same bird calls that I make with

praying hands

half-full of water

half-full of birdcalls,,,,

half-full of hallways,,,,,

They grow in the corner,

without any help from me.

Slipping through my praying hands,

into the valleys,

into the corners,

bleeding into the corners

bleeding onto the speakers

away from the sunshine,

away from the feedback

away from the birdcalls,

away from me.