Jon Colon and I after work, sat taking in the weather
smiling all wrong because we could not solve the upside down camera
Now I’m back in the service of volume, Spring in that of pale white shoots
All pushing up from underground
Young, demure, struggling to find the love that she's capable of
Younger, secure, showing me more than the mirror ever could
This beauty tears apart an orange, in the scent I am hers.
A cool dishwasher with a beard agrees.
Romantic or obsessive? Wolf stares down from his precipice
Flock of sheep in a cool valley, sun goes red and the light helps me forget
Angelic breath at my back that says
a past unclosed will unfold
Shipwrecked & drawing up a new ship,
its humble, eccentric & slightly dreamy.
Birth, we learned, is not a fixed point.
See our shoes on the floor by the bed? One is sleeping, the other isn't.
See our shoes on the floor by the bed?
Sometimes I just love the look of things.
May I die in summer with my hand upon a sill
and never in winter when the ground & sky are the same pale white.
Oh, so still. Ice on folded wings and Callery trees.
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