3/31/18: The Scent of Last Night’s Meal

onion, curry, and

the guest who’s left

a ghost

3/30/18: Umwelt

even

through winter—the firefly’s

bottle

as if any

thought and feeling were

translatable

spring’s warbling

seems louder in trees as yet

unladen

black enamel

unlayered—a sky too thin

for a bowl

watching shadows

recede until noon and grow

to midnight

blackboard ponds

clouded by erasures into

which you’ve dived