Water Slowly Becomes Air

(I am beside the wall)

Standing by the edge.

Air quickly becomes water.

Under the ocean are surprisingly
focused focused tunnels.
Our hair floats in them but we don’t
not now need air.

understaI don’t understand
their directions.


for R.E.C.

Slow and
clean ungraceful metal
shelves dampen.

Libraries are dampened
with shadows, we
read their blooms.

Gather lost skin
cells bundled
into book pages,

their unnecessary fibers
grazing hair follicles,
In which

we decompose
and lighten.
Dampen the chairs;

move them out of the necessary
shadows, our imprints
are only left.

Our imprints are left as shadows
in papers, in bindings, on dusty
dull metal shelves,

on college entrance essays.
Girlie, I’m glad
you didn’t wait for us.

We are left
ungraceful to read
your shadows.

Cherokee National Forest, Tennesee

soft stones
& trees.

Cuts out of blue
green water a V
in the horizon.

steam lifts out
of the cut:

To the sun,
only sliding
over pebbles,

A fish stirs.
Nothing altered,
except rusted

cans in dark
damp triangles
beneath stones.

Bees check holes
in dead sycamore wood
or London planetree;

Finally waterskiers
break the lake.

We are Houses; We Sink and Leave Doors Open Past Dusk

This mothering instinct is a rust colored
variety of gathered clouds and chain-link
fences in piles by the side of our
white house.

Even the leaves rust away & brown
and orange spots on the railing.
I am not sure I know how to stop it
because I leave nests in the windows.

‘Oxidizes’ was vocabulary a pigeon
would vocalize, whose feathers
are more dust than lightning bugs.

With the hornet sting, I ask for endurance
and try to hold the red bump until
the same rust colored clouds
take your skin away/

peel at our eyelids (from the underside)
(and mostly the same color
when not sleeping
on the ride

I did not try to care for you
and gave nothing for the sting.
Your sad and slightly curious blue
eyes corrode my skin, or

what I thought was soon
to brown to dust.

I wasn’t paying enough attention to my apple and bit my tongue

Tongue (not macintosh)
is another planet reappearing;
incisors mash heavy muscle pulse
and warm your head.

Like seeing the the sun a white
(black) dime in the pond,
glittering too directly
for one small processing unit.

Flip. I
will not stare
into the black hole
in the water.

I will not
redden my eyelids
while pond pulls lost
maple leaves to dam.

Do you see the rest
holding ecstatic sunlight
with pines and birches?

how you are not afraid
they are watching your feet.
Your bitten tongue is a crust
of dry leaves at the dam,

modest sun
mailing planets
back to you.