a winter visit is blood to us, collected in our thumbs, pressed together, always distracted by effectively knowing that which is true: feral will never make do. going to the space needle, her mouth was a cowry shell that i saw in the water in my fingers i heard the snapping of twigs just that prickly little feeling saying “kenna, watch the corners of her mouth” lovely in the passenger seat my hand quaking ninety miles to go oregon behind, peppering the corridor with firs quietly i sang watery songs “run river run,” “golden vanity,” she slept with the stars sitting on her hair then seattle waited underneath her black dress (velvet, from her mother) wondering where will we stay- she woke up. from the sky fell zebra orchids, already dying