Completely dehisced from known land from maps and plans past the limit of margins waking up now is like being on a boat– Where has the night delivered me? [Apologies for general lack of posting and responding to comments, in the process of moving and with variable wifi access!]
[Descant] A strange thing, this geometric city living. The night sky is always pink here, with residual heat— I’ve never seen a star, only the boxy glow of the higher high-rise, the landing lights of planes swallowed up by clouds (I assume) no birds, no breeze, just isolated trees and the audible gradients of interminable descent, and I always wake up tired. Selah.
Sudden blue like a blow who knows from when or where it comes from the viaduct the Bay shines today like a blank page so very full of promise– but how it does get taxing, all this hoping and hoping, and hoping–
Here another summer day like any other just like any other and between being left and leaving I know which I prefer– Unsettling wind I wake to news of fire on the butte and the power gone out and KOZI off the air and level 3 orders to get out now and a pile of dead goats at a ranch that burned overnight and horses run off like open-ended questions– Only a slight haze, here, a tinge of regret, chagrin, I am far away, […]
By one the sky was evening-dark by two the sky had split and rain fell like it hasn’t in months and the city breathed a sigh of relief– and yes it’s want that makes abundance but love sometimes you keep me waiting when even a minute is one too many
Never a direct course so not unlike a sail we turn up the wind shifts and then we must fall off but always arrive an evening shore a sky open like arms and unlike a sail it’s such joy to be becalmed
A pink gray sky no sleep dead heat every few seconds a car rolls down the street like a sigh like a slow-moving wave and the star I thought I saw was only a plane and no birds sing even though it’s more morning than night now I’ve watched every single lonely hour crumple and go on
Late morning city view the cranes at angled rest everything now begins with that used to be that was and will be something new strange to know the work it takes to see the progress day by day but the act of creation is never not a surprise— even while mired in it.
Cool rain waning moon a mud-drab marsh bird troubles the water the reeds don’t stir a mineral air rises from the silt soil the littoral so literal I plant my feet in earth that is also part water and returning know a return is also always a departure [I’m back! Was defending a thesis in a completely non-poetry-related field, am now enjoying life as a Master of Science]
I don’t know why I opened windows to let in such heat or why I’m almost tempted to sleep outside if not that there’s no such thing as safe or shelter might as well accept it the offer of fresh air and the way the day falls off into night and wakes with a chill blue moon you know just what I am here for
OPTIONAL POETRY 