Slanted cold rain
each drop a sharp pain
bending below umbrellas' shade
Not personally made
Paid in full-bodied wine
He drinks her away, line after line
But she is a stain
Wash, shoot, scrub, rub, remain
Slanted cold rain
Pain turns into cleansing pleasure

My worst fears are
Coming true.
They don't believe me,
They believe you.

This afternoon, I smell like a hungry gardener
a green thumb with a wart attached:
both perfumes of a rose are discernible. The soil, the falsetto sweet
reaching up onto your nostril fur as monkey bars
until it can scatter seeds, some wild and collected by fruit.

Mother asks why my knees are shaded.
I have been on them, I say, breathing life into green berries.

Free them from that cage, their wire straitjacket
and breed breed breed:
this afternoon, everything I touch will stay alive, including me.