never with anything to show for the veins of leaves lost feathers of the long day and those thin bones from which perhaps flutes but now I have broken my own rule and as you see the birds die
Tag Archives: leaves
To Cross the Sea
Bubbling on the stove warm nonsense on TV I misspell the important words of other people’s stories on the line nothing drying my legs sore the floor somewhat spotless what else to binge nothing stops this war
should have had iced coffee but trees start to stumble the hot earth becomes I tell myself breathe look at the leaves completely still August 30
at the end of the day whisky cicada hit send a cool breeze down that road in any direction you end up laughing
our secret obscured by a thousand legs under leaves
in leaves
before the storm
the sound of the storm
With my head on the pillow trying to read these lauded sonnets I’m off between rhymes to a bright cafe eating an omelet drinking wine I never drink wine
wind twists the long leaves that other color underneath
the effort, with red leaves finely pointed, rapid heart
splinter
from beyond the massive wall our simple ancestors adored born to be on the back of a truck falling off into dirty hands while the sun lies to itself about a song that puts the world back in shape buried under plastic leaves
syllables of old gods acorns through oak leaves
my name in a woman’s tight hand yellow leaves
in the darkened window my ghost leaves fall