my father holds
his favorite drink

In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers,
my back a misguided quote

I don’t
know why
I’m in the garden
kneeling on dirt

Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.

we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts

Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.

Every so often, they add a tattoo
in honor of some long-forgotten love.

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time

The sin is existing.

you quit wearing pants
loaf around your yard
in hole-nipped panties

I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary
until I smell like the bones
until I am its echo…

It recommended
soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent
to parent might calm and soothe the kid.

We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…

Even as the sun warms the concrete
the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.

I like to think I’m also sprung,
released from the furnace knocks,
done with the heavy meat stews
and salty soups.

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.

Lights on the dashboard spell out
“You still can’t kiss me”

There is so little left of the tomato plants.