after the melt,
what strange mold
creeps where blood
once ran, its sound
less pulse, more drum
mist
mourn
Tag: morning
Mourn
Morning
Somewhere behind a fence
a child, still breathing, dares
to ask.
Bodies in Orbit
A triptych.
Morning light dissolves the purple of early clouds still pliant with possibility. There the dog, there the hand on the head of the dog, the other gripping Styrofoam cup. Sip as the steam moves through. A ship comes in. Another is loaded. Voice from the dock: thirty minutes.
Later, past the southeastern hills, screen door rattles over porch over wet grass under grey-white sky. The flies start early. Your creaking chair. The freeway hush constant as ocean now, and this used to be horse country.
Down to the park, child in grass to feel a spinning planet at her back, trying to imagine the sight of us and all of this at a distance. Up and up, here is time and here is space but where do they connect? Shiver of sudden pulse at the small of her back. Her mother calls, Baby. She calls, it is time.
Reach
Calling back.
Look far into the desert, they told us. What do you see?
Nothing, we answered. Good, they said. That is your reflection.
We lifted arms at sunrise, like Don’t shoot! like a toddler’s Up!
each body a V like flocked birds, flying back to earth.
Mind like a river, draw me to your bed.
Still this here.