i am focused on the immediate future
the week is golden & sticky
in my palm;
i tremble in the midst
of cold,
nearly icy hours

the embrace of a ****-dwelling sweater
seems so close to the surface,
as if the small
ocean of my
reality contains nothing but a high, beautiful child
swimming with the fish.

i rain on green
fields beside massachusetts highways
& cows sleep in the brush
spiked with my
dew. it is
the only
safe place left