no one has been up
to grind pigment for today’s
watercolor
no one has been up
to grind pigment for today’s
watercolor
she lives in a clock,
arrays extra parts, and
waits for it to break
most nights no sign
of the last—dishes done, no
weapons left about
gumball globe—
an eye full of eyes, planets
inside each
flames rise to join
heaven, rocks fall to be with
earth—and we alone
walking inside
a line of detritus—
tide withdrawn
strange to describe dawn
as “like clockwork” when it’s
the other way around
another word
I can’t disassociate
from sour
why is it
I enter to find you
just gone?
quiet enough
to hear my breathing—the pink
horizon