there's a silence
in the hours
of the first stirring
between the breaking
of light through
brittle air
and the pale stretch
of shadow

you traced your own line
where the light dips
and pools in the hollow
of my collarbone
with the narrow tip
of a finger
i take a page
pure in the first fold
and open receptive

and i spent some time remembering
the way your fingers met
the soft beginnings of your palm
i'm not much better
than the words echoed
on a night with the stars
scattered like birdseed

1
the door clasps
dry whispers
echo down
the dusty dark
2
the moon
has a fingernail's edge
my neighbor sings a song
to his wife
mouth full of cotton
3
the lightswitch
clicks upwards
the light above hesitates
4
i've forgotten
how lovely
my cats are

these dandelions come too late
i've already forgotten
our timid hands
the quiet rustle
of young leaves
the sun nodding
through branches
creating shadow
upon shadow
on the hiding grass

fog again this morning
beside the road
a deer guides
a narrow path
to the nearby woods
the air stretched
to a brittle edge

the sound
of oncoming rain
through an open window
somewhere laughter spills
like marbles

afternoon light flickers
through the curtains
like a moth
her fingers brush
the lined edge
of a plate
as the sink fills
with water

the sound of paper, displaced
shifts behind her
she counts
the careful steps
the cat takes
across the table

outside the roses
trace their shadows
across the lawn