I’m going to nap until it’s morning there
then send you a dream song
for yoga practice
or tai chi
or just lying still
listening while breathing.

Breathing these breaths.

Or are you here and this dusk is also upon you?

How often are poems written for you?
How often are thoughts given to you?
How often is time evaded with you?

I accidentally recorded four hours and fifty-nine minutes
of southern summer insect sounds
the other night.
Good thing it didn’t rain.
That time that it did
on the canyon’s edge
crouched under blooming rhododendron
you knew then didn’t you?

I’ve always liked the sound
of the word canyon
gorge even more so.

What sounds are you hearing now?

You should send a photo
of where you are.
I mean the place.

I see you clearly
however awkward
without falter.
Thank you.

river
take
open
ocean

pool
dark

forest
dark

breath
haint

face­
cliff
fur
scratch
blanket

sun
drip
prism
dry
facet

leaf
off
ha­ng
chill

bud
sweat

bell
resin

And the seeds,
you remember don't you?
They are embedded in the fleshy pulp.

With my index finger
I follow
every fragrant glimpse.

Such intense
and flavorful
memory trails to wonder.

Carum carvi
and Jalapeño sauce
straight from a
hot No.10 skillet.
Blood Orange slices
have not ever tasted
quite like that.
Gardenia blossoms,
they’re not poisonous
are they?

Pause.

Despite the map we charted
I find myself so easily lost
amidst a transcendent,
pervasive flora,

fascinated and breathless.

Really,
makes no difference
if or even where
we placed that letter X.

Standing ankle deep
on the bluff,
river roaring
something vicious
down below.
Standing knee deep
on the plateau,
there she is again,
the dog
and her bone.

How much of this did you say?
How many times more?
How many times not?

Just give me
the pick ax.
Grab a core sample
if you like.
This will take
some time
and
some thyme
and
some time.