She must practice, away from the comforter,
the form letter, the pin numbers and transfer,
as in delphinium. A beginning without end is vertigo.
There it is, bigger. Orange, like the fruit.
How she loves the small lines decorating her face.
An evening redness in the west is full of dry color
and the evocation of future memories. Especially at night,
discoveries repeat in the undesignated city.
Published in Colorado Review, 41.1
I wish I had a story to tell
besides the stories everyone knows —
about light and the tinge overhead
when it comes and goes
the way tunes on the radio change
one to the next. Refreshing
how sky covers the spectrum in the paint section
of a hardware store. Samples are labeled Azure,
Cirrus, Drifting, Boundless, Swan, Windy,
Dew. I want all of them to thrive
on my walls. For my neck and ears
I claim turquoise settling into silver.
Minerals move slowly. This overture starts moderato
then cuts, without compromise, into shine.
Published in Flourish
She thinks the afternoon is cool enough
and walks too long in the sun. Streets are named for it
but none called Rabbit-Soft Dusk. Is it the same day
as this morning? The colors are different.
She gets help settling in, someone on the other side
to balloon the top sheet. The soprano hum of flies.
The rhythm is crepuscular, attuned to the coming
and going of light. A cottontail emerges and bites its paw
for fleas. She washes the dishes by battery lamp.
Her sister’s Portuguese douro tinto is warm, good.
Published in Apercu Quarterly 3.3