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they write the book

we write the book
1. wisdom tree, 2. Bouquet d’octobre, 3. ., 4. |


she is breathless, dancing
he is moonrise, calling
they are her/him waiting, dreaming
building balanced he/she cairns
of smooth him pebbles in her pocket
tiny keyhole mail slot houses
rooms to fill with
perfect pronoun love

insomnia


1. Untitled, 2. Grace, 3. dead kennedys, 4. Insomnia


Hair, ear, forehead, eyebrow. Up to my hips in September, ankles numb, feet pebble battered. Sun rises out of the salty soup and sinks at the end of the arc behind shadow black trees. Each arc shorter than the last and incrementally colder, soundtrack muted horns and cymbals kissed by brushes. Small finger, ring finger, middle finger, index finger, thumb.

sangre de cristo


1. more beets, 2. red books, 3. autumn colours 2, 4. Blood of Christ


autumn approaches from the west
and from the root
cold clear air swoops in as
september rises from the soil
draws up the trunks of maple
the stems of sumac, serviceberry, ivy
leaves newly copper and crimson
rustle and rattle
and fall

yellow


1. Untitled, 2. Lighting Experiments, 3. In memory of 9-11, 4. 3


corn moon, fruit moon,
barley moon, harvest moon
tiny boys with wild thing backpacks
and their sisters in pleated plaid
waiting at every corner this morning
for the yellow bus to round the bend
waiting tonight for the yellow moon
to clear the tops of the trees
for wishing

homesick


1. 4,5,6 o’clock, 2. Provincetown Beach, 3. Old Blue Boat, 4. Cotchpinicut – 2:29pm


I miss this place
pine for it like a long lost lover
like a phantom limb
turning a corner the air moves across my face
and I smell the salt of it, the sea of it
the very it of it
I wake from a dream of it
my sunbaked skin taut and tender
sheets gritty with the suggestion of sand
and for the briefest blink
the light of it
the incomparable light of it
spills through the window
and pools on the floor

pink – for my girls


1. tonalit√†, 2. iheartpeonies, 3. Composici√≥, 4. Who’s party?


she is a cupcake with flowers of frosting
she is the tiniest yawn – a breath and a squeak
she is a small yellow tutu worn with red rubber boots
she is an iridescent blue butterfly
she is hopscotch and jump-rope and chalk squiggles on the driveway
she is peonies and lilacs and lily of the valley
she is the softest pink line at the edge of dawn
she is a feather a robin’s egg a birdbreeze a warble
she is my favorite new song

as the crow flies

today was ochre and umber, the sound that bronze would make if it could, the lingering taste of a copper penny and the crisp rim on everything when warm wet departs and cool dry swoops in with the geese.


1.
++++++++++++++++++++, 2. as the crow flies, 3. layering the center panel, 4. Frames


windfall

small
blue umbrella
left hanging from
the hose reel
past sunset

coppery leaves
and dandelion down
fill its cone mouth
overnight

spill out
in morning shower
so much
softer than the
rain

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