October 2009

She visits still too much, dressed in aromas
of fir needles, mango, mold: I still get lost
knowing she’s close, me not getting younger
or more conscious. Sometimes I fantasticate
I’m broad awake: her witchy presence waits
for me to jump into her arms, but...

We scratch at the backyard together
through leaf mould, worm casings she kicks off
in a fan behind her. I use a stick
to dig, to find for her what she’s shown me
near the roots, at the edge of a step—sticky
slug on the...

A lot of the painting here is painting over.
Can everyone at the back hear over everyone?
Everyone is a blast of light seeping across the film.
All day high toothy windows whiten in flashlight.

We are much like we were: five times a...