I write you to sleep
in the other room
the leaves and fire of
your dream wisdom,
a dosha to create
each particular function
wrought in sweet, bitter, uncanny can-can
last night I saw you
in the rain with my
jean jacket
you asked about your face
and read me
catholic gospel/the body’s innate wisdom
free of threadworms, windup toys,
each nasty gut of wind
when I love you
I always see you in white
(this is all the time)
and you clear the toxins
from my accounts,
hold up my husband by
his flags,
tell him to
woosh
woosh
woosh
there is a pearl at
the bottom of us
and we touch it with
un-bitten fingers
this essential does not
go unnoticed in
our hearts but
ties our mouths so
we cannot speak—
a grammar lesson on love
and checkmate of birdwings
you awaken
come out for your phone
tell you to go back to sleep
you smile

I have so much to love god for

I shaped you like a door handle,
washed you out with cerulean trees,
I took the clippers to my head
to make myself clean

I stared in your sigh as I
I grabbed your waist and swung you in
rope coo-coo,
eyes you described as muddy pools
turned lime-green cats in bathroom light
there,

you had blond hair,
barely-visible eyelashes,
tall, norwegian beauty,
outer-universe olympian

I was not right within and
you saw, unphased moon again
for the billionth time,
you rolled at my tiny bubbles
and I
waited, baitable breath

every clock was digital 80’s
and you, polite queen,
were tired of holding your spoon—
candy bride

with this candy man,
little bride, little
my worms festered
as I pulled the hair from your neck
and saw my own eye on your spine’s skin—
frail, too deep, and shy/additives to pain

I heard the big crunch
in that mental hospital bathroom,
my universe went back to no-space,
so far from you as we danced
and you looked somewhere else—
much

smaller than an atom’s nucleus
we were everything
but neither of us knew
the gift of dying
to be born again—

you dream
one-thousand pounds
heavier than me—
a weaved, night sky
complete with brass buttons
and the bobby pin you forgot to take out
this

tessellation of Sunday letter
haunts me with your

lace and peach
as my fingers conduct

the bundle of flowers
to smoke

I dig into my pockets and find
lint
gum wrappers
the invisible switchblade
of mirror ride and wind’s roll—
the KABOOM!
of diluted catastrophe
or how your mother screams in her sleep

now I understand how seasons
faint from peppered emotion—
strong enough for teeth
to bite and rip the leather
or at least scratch patterns into
that old belt

smooth breeze down the throat
tastes as September dies down
at the alley cat’s feet—
dead prayer
and the leaves swoon to
twitching whiskers

I am born again
this September morning as
each thorn on the rosebush
breaks pink with the sun

the hummingbird buzzes by,
echoes and springs in
the mist of chamomile flower—
a yellow-bodied bloom and
liquid-sugar disco running over
conscious body,
conscious mind

a chord is struck and
pecks the roof twice—
tap…
tap…
and I see god for what she is—
suddenly and always present as
two birds dance their wings
over a cradle of planted flowers

here I find you
my little wildflower
unable to catch
the powder-blue butterfly

the breeze—something sweet
to wet the clouds
while mountain’s edge bites
horizon’s crushed and swollen lip

you blend in—a pile of jade
something blue to budding wheat
but no fear found
by a little scout
holding the spider with caged palms

how easy it’s been to love you
leather hat in tow
as you make your way to
snowed lake’s basin
now melted, shone, and gleaming

my love for you is planted—a babbled sunflower
leaning over the sidewalk
as you return home
skipping over cracks—
child’s play to the mountain, ocean, forest

you are the universe’s first creation
blooming out its chest—
there is no room for anything but you
as the pollen of night sprinkles down,
spirit o’ spirit
and sprite of loving girl
wrapped in candy wind
now asleep and closed petals
to grace
from grace
and the life in between

sheen spreads from
light blue paranoia—a rainbow,
tough magical, slippery, and krilled

to enter all but my mouth would seem ungrateful

rain, lighthouse, big money,
and the shade of fish approaching

the rope
now shredded, wet braids
to loosen and snap swatched opal
peeping, peering, ripping larger
with the rifted water

and so goes slicing red