branches against clouds,
silhouettes of buds
happy to explode
branches against clouds,
silhouettes of buds
happy to explode
am I meant
to chase impalas
or ride them?
so much vapor
disappearing by still
clinging
diamond stars
etching motion
on black glass
flashes of light
passing along a trestle—
zoetrope
dim attention
and sunrise—night’s vaudeville
playing on
ever again missteps—
the stumbling speech of a fool
giggling between words
so flat in the ear
their sounds seem the skip of plates
into one big pile
the snow has slipped
from branches—the sleeves pushed
up for work
you laughed at
my mistakes without my feeling
they were