November 2023

the sun fails to make sense anymore

an insect buzzes in overgrown red brome

butterfly whistle     spark of beetle or wire rush

cattle choke wide   sage in late weather

a field of big grass and red sky

small water amiss through words

and wind and a faded scar

like the one I trace on your wrist sometimes

and man the day fell hours…

assimilamentations

Like or unlike, make me

thy lyre, thy liar—


fists clenched so tightly the knuckles paled to stone—

then calmed myself to keep my brother and sister calm.


Who would protect them

if I said something back?


And the child-I-was, trying to be

less visible, trying to disappear—


Look ma, no words.

Look ma…

What if telling a story
was an exercise in forgiveness? A boy
slips a rotting peach into his pocket
and looks off the edge of a cliff. Here
in the airport, waiting
for my flight with shaking knees,
how much of his willingness to jump
is my willingness to sit still—
to bear the hornet’s nest
of everyday life turning
in my throat …