Your absence hit
like a stem,
fresh-cut—
sap still weeping,
leaves still turning
toward a blue,
fictioned sun.

My mind shuts down
like a city at midnight—
lights off,
but echoes still
wandering the streets

I stretched far enough
to hug the moon—
and it didn’t flinch.
It stayed—unbothered,
like it had been waiting.

Like wild trees,
people branch out
fiercely—unconscious.

Some limbs reach
for light,
while others curl
into shadow.

Each one is growing
in their own time.
It’s never about you.

Don’t be bothered
by the thorns they wear.
A tree must grow them—
it’s part of its nature,
like armor,
like a dress.

what am I good for
if I'm lost — adrift like a
cloud that holds no rain

worlds are collapsing, rising; dictators exhale,
entangle the veins of world
some ideas preserve salty streets like janitors of the dark
summer keeps the score of perfumed nights
I indulge in the womb of heat
wounds are retreating in sequestered spaces -
the seeds of the future.
there is a chill in the air, dread strikes near and far
light flows like the dance stuck in my bones
everywhere the pulse of time, dreaming

Like soldiers of comically varying heights
I line up my pill bottles along the border
  of my place mat for morning roll call
Some plastic, some glass—
  Green, white, purple, yellow, gold
Each with their own earnest promise—
Energy, metabolism, muscle function,
  allergy relief
And I earnestly swallow each down
Willing each to complete their mission
To find success in the battle against time
Willing them to bring new life
  to this tired body of mine

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