That full moon like a brass button studding the night, implying perforation, adeherence, closure. In some places it was occluded, tarnished– but we couldn’t see it from where we sat, adrift in a deep night that fell like a curtain. For every word a third unspoken. That full, full moon and the Earth’s shadow encroaching. The very papable weight of nothing.
Waking with a burning throat it’s the sun that changes not the haze a distinction worth making? Who knows. The sky bright opaque some big eye’s sclera and it doesnt blink
unvoiced words cast as shadows or wilting in the face of the predictable response or echoes of echoes and all this weary smoke settling over the city towers and spires the blood speck sun thirst is nameable but this is not . the cloud distinctly a face suspended over the far valley blowing out a bellicose wind and from the summit we watched smoke churning up like smoke there’s nothing else so plain-spoken yet indirect […]
a thirst and that way weariness rests just outside the eyes- another rainless day sun on green glass oh the height of it all a seagull seems to fly low here the trees seem out of place set pieces this room is mostly window and open space but some things you just can’t fake this song progresses through common chords characterize everything as a wait it sure doesn’t feel like arrival nobody’s fault but mine […]
almost calm this not yet night a house it settles but a city it calls and calls like some stray cat enamored by want and measuring out the confines of its alleys
tannin of disappointment how it clings like a soft bitter leaf stains an evening seeps into a day full sun solstice even here longest day and longest shadows cast a stone and ripples cast a doubt and the breeze might not even be real
a day of too many quiet rooms no balm for it words on a page too linear the page too square all coming back to right angles, edges, each a precipice– if potential was always positive a heart would not sink
back from the ocean city night sounds windows open to let the night in what else to say it hums with some energy not unlike a tide changing also gradually but impossible to refute not unlike this sunburn or how much I’m missing you
Late late morning a ripple on the lake a standing wave or complicated wake two lizards sunning themselves and not much else to say, calm and soft here, East of the mountains I watch descents: parasails, quails the crescent day moon the onerous ray of sun and spare a thought for yours: did your crampons bite? did the pack give way? Alone in the shade of static, fixed hills, I wonder, and wait.
more wilderness here in a square foot than home already hotter than predicted these clouds look like a child drew them and incessant songbirds insisting it’s not summer yet that we are still arriving such a strange place this year is given in to longing at every margin still snow in the passes and this baslamroot spent
OPTIONAL POETRY 