your glances—
oblique and square—images
implanted
your glances—
oblique and square—images
implanted
footpaths tracing
a constellation full of
mentions
a child rolls
a hula hoop muttering
encouragement
we are
only sorry we meant
our best
sunset—wheat blown
in each gust’s direction
without concern
knowing what
I possess is something
new and strange
the furnace
stirs—the leaves of the ficus
tremble
whatever
you might say, the sound
of silence is real
two synonyms
and “at”—feeling feline
as I eye drapes
traffic quiet—
at last—and harder not
to hear sirens