There is so little left of the tomato plants.

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

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

Do not say anything anybody else has said ever. Things are not “bleached by sun.”

The storm passes without snow.
The car waits loyally in the back lot.

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

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

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

You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.

If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.

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

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

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.

I have observed, the theorist
I am