When I Say I Want to Learn Your Mother’s Recipe, I Mean

Ancient people shaped pots from clay………………………..to make fire a thing to swallow. Want & its answer is prehistoric,………………………..our bodies fevers inherited from the earth — centuries of need………………………..seared out of flesh & given names. In glass lids I’ve watched light………………………..leap to my cheek when you tongued my name & understood………………………..how one mistakes the kind -ling… Read More When I Say I Want to Learn Your Mother’s Recipe, I Mean

Last Ember

In the windstorm of my calendar, Color coded to type of connection, My minutes are pressed and pressured, Ideas contrived, my mouth and legs Set strategies, stack cards. Everything is analogous, The same indistinct grey ground, Fog of days, years. Then: you Enter. I keep my breathing in wisps, My thoughts narrow to navigate Around… Read More Last Ember

A Great Wagon

When I see your face, the stones start spinning! You appear; all studying wanders. I lose my place. Water turns pearly. Fire dies down and doesn’t destroy. In your presence I don’t want what I thought I wanted, those three little hanging lamps. Inside your face the ancient manuscripts Seem like rusty mirrors. You breathe;… Read More A Great Wagon