The new terminals are enormous daycribs
that keep unfolding with padding and covers
for the bars. The contracts call
for a rendezvous in the gazebo
overlooking the asylum's streams.
The university purchased the streams
decades ago and relocated them.
The streams drink profusely
and then whimper to whomever listens.
When la azafata smiles her teeth
are milk in the rain. Wanting her
is like rain. Or the fog forming
on the conservatory walls. Her hands
teasing me to taste her disheveled hair.