you know that baby swallows make silver ripples in wild rivers to court reeds?
We stop doing dishes while a mile unwinds from the tree outside.
There is so little left of the tomato plants.
my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight, and there are already way too many fragments in this house
I imagine that undressing a color, though, would be so much like peeling a memory away from the grey and the white matter of your brain.
I would always rather be happy than dignified. Rather held than held in awe.
Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.
People have always coped with flooding, and they learned to cope with death.
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary until I smell like the bones until I am its echo…
If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.
The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack Once a zipper Unzipped
I count my homes— those of my scattered youth the sanctuary of our young family the intermittent rest stops of apartments and vacations.
I am still waiting for the lion
I don’t know why I’m in the garden kneeling on dirt
Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time
Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.
Ma wrings a wet world of colors
Lights on the dashboard spell out “You still can’t kiss me”
and apples, mackintosh mostly, but any kind left in The Pub at the Assisted Living Place