*
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
tide.
*
one thin gold bit. I
remember
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
feline
investigation
of the noise
from
hinges.
this and then
that flung
upward in a
jagged
journey.
*
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.
*
catching
then
letting go.
again across the river,
behind a thin cloth.
your mouth on my
forehead,
frost cut and shine
against our voices.
