white paper birds
cawing and silent
a pattern of
dance claw
retreat. smooth
as stone. bright
as river. your advance
a welcome pain, a border
a stand of glass trees.

mapped in awkward
tight then flowing
door frames, noises
weight makes and drift
of light.
noise of vans gunning it
down the alleyway, pebbles
kicking up in the sun.

thick hair in tangles around
a three-year-old's waist &
frailty. a name from flesh,
name from clay.

creases in your navy blue work
pants. the ink stain in your
left shirt pocket. black and
spreading in a slow moon

one thin gold bit. I
your breasts
swinging as you dried
yourself from a shower.
wet along
your back,
in your hair.

a grasshopper, legs folded
in tight angles, ankle over
hipbone. a room stacked and
staked with ideas and paper,
pressed into dust.

rice & beans in
a bowl -- sitting on
handlebars angles
cutting brick walls
a few feet from your
head in sleep. your
cold hands
and mine. strings
between mittens.

an almost
of the noise
this and then
that flung
upward in a

coinshine fills reflections.
your tendency, mine in a
dusty slope. I grew blue
morning glories that year,
built a frail wall of maple
and twine. every morning
field stubble cut at my feet.
knotted purple wild flowers
scratched at your stone.

is pity
expected here. a
rough break -
stood swaying on the
bridge by the dam. you work
in a hospital,
watch people
come and go. push
yourself past your face,
a house of cards
picking up a tremble
from the wind.

slow and wide, thick across
the tongue, ribbons tangled
and falling. hot beer
bottles through air, hitting
water and shattering. you,
slow and wide. roll
and empty.

letting go.

again across the river,
behind a thin cloth.
your mouth on my
frost cut and shine
against our voices.