Most mornings, I make a sandwich
and most days, it falls apart a little
in its container in my lunch bag.
My lunch involves scooping the innards
and tucking them into my mouth.
I don’t mind because it’s just me, after all.
But when I make a sandwich for someone,
I take more care. Things don’t fall apart.

I thought pitas would help- they’re
bread containers themselves but no,
my turkey peeks out and
my provolone unrolls outside the pocket.
I have to laugh, at my sandwich-making,
about how I’m settling for myself,
even how I notice something so stupid.

A couple of weeks ago, I splurged for
Italian rolls and they held my stuff together.
But it felt like a luxury, and not penance
and that sort of shocks me, seeing as
I’m a recovering Catholic and thought
I had left the guilt of being born behind.

I think of mindfulness as I eat my sandwich.
I think about not feeling worthy.
I think I may need some mayo next time.

Layers of colors
of leaves
of hills rolling
breathing
dancing in wind
and for a stretch
of time of light
it’s perfect
nameless
and I am happy
to be aimless
with the wind.

Two people move across the street,
walking together to work, briefcases in tow
but their feet and legs are moving
in a circle, as if they’ve got wheels.
A young girl is heading to the coffee shop
and she walks like she’s a triangle.
I think maybe I’m oval, but I’m not sure.
I watch and wait for a hexagon man,
with so many angles, he finds his way easily
despite a little icy dew.
I’m humming a diamond song
as the mailman stops by,
and I wonder if tomorrow will find
people shapes turn three-dimensional
or if we’ll all be trying to toe a line.

The truck rolls past, blaring music
as the quiet man inside sits very still.
A woman edges her car slowly
out of a parking lot seemingly intent
on escape despite her trappings.
Moving pictures, sleepy spirits.

Success is a ridiculous word
when measured against the business
of deciduous trees in autumn.

The afternoon is a shuddering breath
after a gutless morning
pushed mercy as far away as it could.

Prayers are rising amid the notifications
pulsing from devices everywhere,
making it a crowded atmosphere.
It’s like breathing in graffiti.

It’s so blue where you are,
and I know the air is
topsy turvey
in a way that makes us
want to fly a kite
and watch as the swells
of the sea meet the clouds.

I can feel your laugh
as the sun brushes my face
and our hands reach
for the same thing.

The day lasts forever,
my heart is in another state,
and you are a rousing wind.