new oranges wait
unpeeled
in an open basket

his mother
moves
in the half-light

fingers working
-small reflections
in the early hours

morning shadows
caught
like words
between us

1.
in summer
we sit in the branches

picking leaves
from the strands
of our hair
we break the stems
and touch
the bleeding tips
to our tongues

2.
quietly
the fruit falls

aging in the soft
shoulder of the ground

flies gather
eating life
before the ending day

3.
summer fails
gathers
and fails again

new grass
grows
crowded against
the wooden fence

my mother
kills the fig tree

branches fall
-old weight breaking
into waiting hands

the sun
warms
an empty space

4.
morning begins
with the ache
of a new flower

shadows move
liquid beneath
the shifting leaves

sunlight through
green paper

summer ages with
a sudden hour
thin and
sun-softened

words follow
like leaves
each their own
separate turning

my sister tells me
what i don't remember

morning softens
bleeding into
a new light

and she begins
again

night in the long hours
quiet like the inside
of a suitcase

somewhere
a fire is burning

darkness moves
a breath against
the heavy wall
blind and
pillow soft

it rained
sometime
in the passing night

leaves rustle
wet shadows taken
by a sudden current

sleep
follows me
like a footstep

morning curls
heavy in
the shadows
of the grass

the sun
burning on
his narrow back

he feels the weight
of his sweat growing

bruises along
the inner folds
of his shirt

flowers
yellowing in
the late afternoon
touch the inside
of his wrist

sunlight breathes
through the grass
like a distant voice

the lights move
yellow along
the curves
of your face

soft voices
wait
in the rising
fall of your chest

briefly our shoulders
touch

in sleep
your hand
flutters like
a dying bird