thinking about the strings attached
to the page, along the warm waters
of thought, & when the dog begins
to wine, abrupt while listening,
we hear the absolute in the shaking
off of wet fur, & another pen
tells a story, shared between one,
the eye in the see, we listen, of
course, the single drop in a

rain (leading into winter

it should be snowing, but water melts
& leaves tiny rivers along the edge,
small toes white from cold & breath
raw from last night dance in puddles,
two leave wait their turn while crows
holler at one another, but it’s hard to
understand, thoughts of winter begin,
question, does it begin at an onset,
no sense in a mark, something of a
missed punctuation, but as it falls,
snow seems so far away, a thought,
short, but point, waiting, maybe in time,
a slow build up, half-frozen as morning
awakes over dark streets

untitled waves

the coast arrives over dunes, water sinks into sand, across in waves that touch the edge of skin, a crab moves underwater & dissipates, feet leave & reappear, wading out into the taste of salt, a communion of currents & trees that bend towards shallow water

to be continued: XX – (bus

leaving pine centre,
a passenger in the
crowd, streets travel
through, torn knee,
the hold to skin,
once a walk, yellow
& watch your step,
press red to stop, smile,
traffic in an open window,
aquatic at the centre, soon
to get off soon, walk,
seats of a pattern,
inside the mold, tattoo
& sunglasses, weather
worn floors, step
outside, wind on
a sunny patch of grass