From the edge of a day.

Find it by nightfall, the living wet familiar, still unsinged. Float a string of yourself to what begins from the land of the dead in living earth between us. Not total fog. No unobstructed view––an edge. Only this, so take hold. I know you wanted. We looked, remember? How it never made anything but us.

Gone the crayon-blue sky, the bicycle spoke arms of yellow suns to catch us up inside sheep clouds. Here is sheet of rain and not the fat drops, distended snow globes reflecting like faces we knew, like some place of love without return, hold on. There is a sound on the roof.

It is birds, baby. They fall.


In the pregnant pause.

If the edge
if the fall
if the downpour
or a sudden neglect
of the next breath
if in the heat to the land
of no light the blind prophet
will not come, if the wailing
starts again, if the Edens are
forever gone and the third day
brings no relief and the next call
no answer if the cold brings the
ships again––or won’t, please do
not lay this down while you are
here. Please, stay
for the carrying
until there is

The Missing

To call but not back.

Certain loves move this way, entire lives

sharing only this admission in the end:

I do not know you anymore. And yet. Will you?

––a refrain and its penance, demanded.

It varies. Who is addressed.

Maybe this is the crux of our want.

To be challenged, then absolved.

We went out looking for the animals,

but the animals had gone. They ran

from their names. We had to admit.

That it was possible we had the wrong



Unicorn in love (Beyoncé cento).

Ten times out of nine

––I know,

If I were a boy, every girl 

––in here


the image. 

Cliché on his mouth 

like liquor

––who wants 

the perfect love 

story                ––anyway 

I got hot––

sauce in my bag,


Wax on? wax off.

Now I’m even more,


You won’t break my––

pictures snatched, 


the frame

why can’t I keep–– 

my hands off? 


              when I put on

show me your scars. 

Lord, forgive me.

I’m stingy

with                 my love

won’t you hold on?

             To me,

             I was here.  


The above is a cento composed entirely of Beyoncé lyrics.


Becoming the placeholder.

Once, I misplaced the breaks in my heart. That was a day without paint.

These skins resound a rhythm just below the ear’s reach, so look. 

See that ghosting flicker, call it urgency. History. The edge of before.

Call it, cipher. 

What is the word for this want?

Only wrong answers can help me now. 


Inspired by the work of Oscar yi Hou

Hope Memo

Long view from well bottom.

Reminder: you will not be always in this gnawing gut at the center of your terror, and you will laugh again, and love someone who smiles back at you still.  Even as you look away now, afraid to push your luck when it comes to what may be saved, you are raised to take less than anyone’s idea of deserving and that face tastes like the last memory you need. To hold that gaze from this deep a vantage for finding still this little light. A want to yell, Go, and keep them in it.