Friday July 24, 2009
what isn’t is unless
less is plenty and
time is just
yesterday.
street, #3
Thursday July 23, 2009
morning light settles on her
like pollen. the driveway now empty,
the dog lost, the children drawing on the street,
the river swelling, swelling up Main, forgetting its place,
until the whole fucking world is delivered.
children, #2
Wednesday June 3, 2009
when you were 4,
fear no longer kept you
from the water’s line. you dug
your feet in firmly, as if stepping
on a leash. but the ocean
would not be beached. it reared,
bared its frothy teeth, and broke
upon you.
you laughing,
laughing.
children, #1
Tuesday June 2, 2009
when you were 3
the surf shook your ribs. you tried
to cover your face in shells. even
the ocean’s uterine smell
couldn’t shake you from that spell.
at night you cried
at the sight of the moon being dragged
down onto the water
and torn apart by waves.
river
Monday June 1, 2009
i plunge my face
through that brown skin
cold, feral, to look for lost intentions. they
float by, just below the corrosive air, compelled
by different gravities.
