Little Mortal Things to be Rearranged

Our bodies wrinkling space.
Words and gods.
The infinite variation in all things.
Disposable heroes.
The names for things.
Glimpse of a small girl walking in the city, one hand holding her mother's and the other running along the wall beside her taking delight in the stone's texture, tapping here & there as if she knows tiny windows will open and pour out light on all the walkers in the city.
A . . . . Z