tosstle and tusstle

I cackle to the landscape,
between oceans of eyes
lingering in the limp darkness of a time.

Rhyming treetops are knit together
by the sound of themselves, satisfying itches.
We lean against the think.
We leave our own strolls at home,
and let the stroll of each moment overtake us.
I am thinking to myselves (thinking as in "trying"
or "seizing"):

how about it? An orange? Two?
A feeling of an orange up against
shadows? This is too loud to
settle into the acoustic loam, but
let it feel us anyhow.

Loudthink settles down (in his proud untattered stance)
and we drink fuss from his deep pools of eyes.
I become prominent.
Prominent to the earth of ease.

and sink
out into the open