October 29
torrents of rain the hour before departure jewel-tone leaves against a wash of gray the sky gives no hint of time or day leaving I am already a little gone already the cobalt jay catches my eye a promise of color color y calor
All posts tagged: trip
September 9
The night before a departure, waiting for that balm of Not Here. It’s supposed to come in threes, but between worse, and worst– I mean, I can’t even tell if this food has gone bad– implications are tiring. I’m going to the ocean, to take in the water’s endless rehearsal and the steady, steady shore, to live in the littoral– there’s not one thing that isn’t somehow in motion, just I wish they sometimes weren’t
November 6
That blank sky. Day, but not an inch more. A strata of birds wind through the building cranes’ poles, seagulls high, crows, lower. Now coffee and packing. The highway is a cure in that it demands forward movement– bird or car, a stall is failed flight. Such guilty solace, to take to the Interstate, alone, to burn miles like effigies, dividing a landscape into present, and past–
OPTIONAL POETRY 