dragonfly,
is your secret wings
or wind?
dragonfly,
is your secret wings
or wind?
in sun’s new angle
I see how pocked the floor is
from all that’s fallen
so much surface—each
color a scent, each another
moment opening
when you look away
the forest creeps forward—
birds are singing now
your face tells me—
the wash of traffic outside
is more interesting
my heart
is a bird so pleased
with its nest
to learn to repeat
with absolute fidelity and
unconsciousness
she holds out a leaf
as if it were a fish
that can’t go back
stacks become towers
and towers point, prouder
than I am
night leads to
wondering—where are
the mile markers?