waves break beneath my skin the beginning of fire
banking hard to chase a crow training wheels come off
on the rough soil of the sea so many words corrode
a few petals hanging on the game I wanted to play
fine rain a new post code in the city of the dead
sticky heat my soles black with mulberries
September cobwebs in the kettle
between dusty syllables light from ancient stars
what is still allowed among the soft curves of cloud
a week of travel over my leaky sink in the setting sun
a row of birds still in the sun before the dark hills
my neighbor rattles his lock and leaves thunder
sun gleams off car horns and chlorine in the breeze
no reception at dawn I slowly embrace an unwanted freedom
almost bent in half on the lawn an old woman eats a peach
letting go it swims to the deepest part of the river
deep in the bones of my toes the wedding songs of toads
the sound of gulls bisects the awkward love triangle
after restless sleep the creaking needs of birds nearby
woken by my moan as wide as the moon
just enough of a push the crane soars over the treetops
hands across his chest he worries about wealth old squirrel
summer half over the fountain sparkles with pennies
softly from deep inside the fog the voice that wants me dead
the moving van moves a sweetness remembering summer
alone a bird I’ve never seen looks at me the same way
thin white skin of rain the puzzle back in the drawer
the squirrel narrowly escapes the wheel in my mind
numbers stop making sense the pops and whirrs of a starling
waiting for the miracle wheat flies over the ocean
pieces of the week still in my pocket tiny seeds of mint
traffic update the green streak of a hummingbird
I believe the lie a plastic bag caught in bare branches
baby birds on the driveway grandma says put rocks on their throats
searching for the lost piece the lizard in the dove’s feet
a storm develops in another hemisphere while a hawk hovers
at the wedding wondering how dad feels a few minutes before
when I open my mouth invisible flies from a thousand years ago
the concrete of insomnia in my head I try to make spring
can’t tell the sweat from the rain sidewalks crumble
in morning fog the cardinal’s call is a ray gun
unable to sync our infinite aches the evening ends
the storm passed all the favorite songs I’ve forgotten
all along the mountain trail pointing out my Wikipedia
rain changes the pattern of pollen the slideshow of my sneeze
who says I have to break out of this shell the nameless flowers just so
a plastic bag rolls downhill I try to catch my breath
chipping away at this stone one day I’ll see the sky
no one to blame but carnival sounds from the hill
old branches tipped with light green every part of me goes for a stroll
under the moon ice crystals on the old black notebook
the little sparrow sings all the stones in my throat
the darkness of the water in the sky still waiting
motorcycle rumble under spring clouds I slowly ready for work
I try on all my clothes in the dream deep ruts in the snow
other animals 