2 PoemsSkirting
Another turn of wind
romps a code in rain.
A swallow’s throat: home
of music notes to spit
and drip the air. Sweat.
The sound of wet.Sweater buttons lose
the cross of string.
Arms slack as thread
snipped halfway home.
I run the course of rolling skeins,
spill tiers in the turn of somersaults.
You can find me in following
the line I’ve drawn in pathways.
I unscrew the hinges turning wings,
screen doors in thunderstorms.A slip of concrete catches,
Upside Town
drinks the feet that cross it.
I travel a trail of slashes
returned in circles. A trip.
O cul de sac. I move to turn around
and come back, pass you twice,
out the corner of both eyes.
I stare. Tear at my waist
turned threadbare to shed
and spread as seeds
handled by the spin of air.
The inch worm measures itself
against an arm of spreading ivy.
A stretch. A tippy-toe.
Here’s to faking a growth spurt
because it might be spring.Cheers to the earth in flips.
We rely on lucky fish,
drill holes in earth for sun.
There are birding poles
hooking worms for those
who get there first.When it rains we float afloat
a roof and lose the light
to veils of sea.
Sand dollars in our socks,
we have doves between our toes:
birds from the sea, they say.