2/28/18: Searching Memory

waking—hand

on string—inching a crab

to the surface

2/27/18: Half-Sleeping

the moon

and a single headlight

staring

for digesting

everything, a goat is

always best

it’s the unread

stack of books inching upward—

this weight on my heart

we held hands

beneath the table—hot

current hidden

seeing fallow fields

as rumpled—momentary

disarray

one notion,

then a roiling boil

on a cold stove