go where sun meets
earth, under oak trees
warmed by summer’s
last breath. gather
my limbs, bundling
tight my fragility
and budlike body
until moon sighs
starlight, signaling
nature’s end of shift.
hang me by strings
near warm yellow
fabric until withering
i transform, forever
locked in wild
fragrant splendor.
oh, world of screens
of water snatchers
of robot plague doctors
you don’t understand
what golden light does
and when i crested the hill, i found the resonant moon birthing through a cloud canal. its hips wiggled bit by bit through a thickness trying to hold it back, like too-tight bands or pocketed joints or air made sticky by consumption. i watched its indecision battle compulsion and felt moved by its need to light. astute wind arrived with seven geese, who rang out alarm, calling dead grasses to attention, and stirred leaves within my chest. oh, broken pendulum. cracked stone. pillar leaning toward earth. allow affection to consume me, moonlight to penetrate aggrieved bones, until all upon the hill moves as one, a lunatic motion of worship for all the ways we ache to live another day.
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pain pain pain pain
pain pain pain pain pain pain pain
pain pain pain
pain pain pain pain pain pain
pain pain pain pain pain
pain pain pain
my mother turned 70
and took up canning,
a fun hobby to fill
her retirement time.
she proudly delivered
a box to me—jams and
salsa, and sauce. colored
love trapped in hard
glass with golden tops.
“you should get bags
of rice and beans too,
every week,” she said,
touching my hand.
in case.
in case.
my mother turned 70
and took up canning
because she’s worried
we won’t have enough.
robot man grabs my hand
tells me not to worry.
here’s a new sky, new water,
screens on every baby.
no worries, no worries,
robot man is here.
you are not required.
fading starflower
draped in cobwebs
show me gradation
slinking magic
how weathering feels
like gentle warfare
pulling jasmine
sinew and string
pliable by stone
over running light
arching wind
fetch me transition
falling toward sun
wild stems
bound to follow
you promised me sky never
falls, only shifts, so i follow
threads looking for you. real
boy, real. real. you promised
me ocean waves never cease,
so i search foam for fingers,
fog for faces, where did you
go if not into the pink, where
one day i’ll roll over and find
you laughing and calling my
name, real boy. real. real.
stir me with wind
gathering like storms
setting water droplets
upon air, like breath.
call me beetle bright
oil slick remembered
momentarily still.
i’m nothing words
and all the words
and you’re still here.
gather me in a basket
to set upon a table
and i’ll sing for you.
