and the punny
messages wash up like so
many hole-y sheets
and the punny
messages wash up like so
many hole-y sheets
alligator clip—
why is your loss so painful
a letting-go?
then your throat-
clearing, halting first stir,
and sustained sigh
no fire in or
around here—just air perfumed
with smoke
just dawn and
already an armada
of cloud shadows
pages like
pools—the alphabet
swimming backstroke
what if to see
is to repair—to miss to
rest?
the calendar flipped
around again I begin
to imagine snow
smeared light
outside a black window
and pinprick rain
grateful the sun
does not shamble about
as I do