the city lights
press their wings
against the glass,
watercolored
by raindrops.

her walls a profusion
of coral rich
carnations getting lost
in them remembering
how the curtains held her.

in the heat of it all,
the flowers begin
to peel themselves
off the wallpaper,
suspend themselves
over us in midair,
coming to life,
falling in slow motion.

As if we’re the first two brushstrokes.
As if our hands
together clasped emerging out of serene water
everything. Spending our time
chasing light in shadow
acting nonchalant about it.

From her window we saw
headlights moving up and
down the city. Their light
against the glass watercolored
by raindrops.
I remember how the curtains held her.

If I could peel just the flowers
off her wallpaper, suspend
them over us in midair and
have them come to life––
In the heat of it all, I’d let them
fall in slow motion.

Take me to the snow
monkeys in the hot springs
of northern Japan.
Let me hold one as she combs
the water by my back over
and over.
I’ll note each snowflake
that settles on her fur
and i’ll really
be––

Let me get lost
somewhere near ocean.
I want to ask the wandering albatross
where to go.

Maybe when the trees float unsuspended
I can sit atop a mountain goat and
finally stop thinking.
We'll watch the morning sun
clear the fog.

(from the time my mother dressed
me, my little legs drumming the
air. From the time I stepped on
to the yellow schoolbus
and waved to my parents
goodbye;) They knew that one
day, I’d learn to break out of my body
and fly into the starry night.

creaking across the hallways aching
spine past fading family photos
into her room

the charcoal colored nightstand
on which lay a worn handkerchief and
his wedding ring
as he reads articles about oil
and the depression illuminated by lamplight

the folding newspaper makes way
for a wedding ring glimmer
to meet her eye
and memories of family dinners and
half-remembered lullabies
carry her to bed

the floor stops aching as she lays down,
her memories fester and she begins to weep
silently, not letting any tears
grow old enough to leave her

the sound of turning newspaper pages fills the room

outside, a family of puddles gasp for air
as the rain smothers them.

I remember those poignant
vignettes she wrote last year
they watercolored my heart
and made my pride so delicate
at a time when the sun set
every day and I watched it
thinking of her and the music
played and overflowing
nostalgia trickled down
my cheeks illuminated
by the oh god sun please
I dont want to grow up

many times near dusk
I give earnest attempts
at falling in love
with your incandescence

burning
ochre holes into my
weary retinas waiting in
awe

today, a great wall of
immoveable cloud is draped over
your descent, and shelters
my eager eyes

now you emerge
into a space of regal beauty
and I can't see the spot where I
write this and don't care

A perfect pastel circle casting
a fishing line of shimmer into
the subtle ocean

In this moment a sailboat meets
your fishing line, says hello,
and completes me.

the coral sun
perched on horizons
throne
said to the clouds
become night,
shade
with little clasped hands
the last bits of light
in neglected
attics