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

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

this is what I want you to to see:
leaves falling because it is too late for them not to

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.

I am not a guide
for every traveler
of loss.

We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.

here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome

It is the 70s. 1970s? 2570s? Who knows?
Audre and I have a penthouse in New York.

how does an afternoon turn
on its axis?

my father holds
his favorite drink

I tap at the alphabet while a single deer
taps at the dirt beyond the brush
on the far side of the tree line.

Ma wrings
a wet world
of colors

My grandmother asked, “Does it feel like being widowed?”

Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night;
should have boiled old coffee before noon.