7/31/18: Working Ahead

a forest

full of wood-piles and now

no forest

7/30/18: Not Sleeping Again

darkness

no voice can beckon you

into

because we

only almost trace the same

circle

to imagine

night as once sailors did—

clockwork

a moon more

anchor than float—rusting

after summer rain

temperamental—

when the scent lasts longer

than the fruit

no filter—

the honeyed sun, the sticky

clock muted