A hushed frenzy
I can see so far backward

It’s nice in the dark
Watching shapes change

Will you stay
The boxes are full but not sorted

The air here makes me dizzy
Maybe I’m not breathing right

Pulled through hallways
Home is always further away

They watched us from the hill
Dust swirled in the night like a galaxy

Belief is in a fern
Roots are not meant to be forever

Let’s unlatch the fence
Wild things will become overgrown

The nearness of trees

My hands are empty. I brush my teeth and scrape the day from my skin. Such a lot of maintenance, with keeping my body ready, cleaning dishes, folding clothes, and praying for relief from an encroaching sadness. I imagine lots of things that aren’t true. There seems to be a correlation between peace and the nearness of trees. I think heaven will be the woods, dark and deep. I like the dark. These days are full of nail trimming and foraging shiny stores for food. This is not heaven.

Burgundy

An accidental barrow
with hearthside nuts awaiting
a deeper connection
to the world above.

There are many ways to chew
and swallow, none of which are forever.

There are no accidents,
said the radish to the rutabaga
though true harvest feels arbitrary,
like where hearts or leaves fall.

With eyes closed (night)

I like when quiet falls
roughly over the day as night takes
sound and vision away

It’s easy to find you
with eyes closed and heart open
because you lead me home

We fly with no words
sometimes too close to bear
the mountains we’ve made

I like coming back
to the same places of night
even if I’ve changed

Infinite monkeys hugging it out

But for the butterfly in China,
I’d be on Delancey, leaning on the mantle
watching the pendulum of the clock
and not electroshocking myself
on the plush carpet beneath
a bell tower, having successfully
contaminated the national postal service
with a slow burn, a gut reaction,
a compass with no morals attached.
I was almost a real girl on a bus
on my way for ice cream after being
propositioned by a sad turtle
but instead became a ripe tomato-woman
with lists and limbs in other dimensions
skimming through days like they’re
an index to the Big Solution,
which may or may not be true,
depending upon your fantasy.