Things are as I left them.
Daisies planted, watered, grow.
Screens burned onto silk.
Inks wait to be poured.
Fabrics to be stained with
what I have taken from
desert sand.
Things become perfectly round.
Gazed with stars. Haloed with
the ritual of wings that brought
us together, and apart;
tonite, turning down
the bed clothes, white
rests upon the white
of your hands, far now,
like branches […]

Dear Hummingbird,
Not that I
Want to clip
Your wings I
Cover you with ink
And run it over
Your body to make
Prints.
This wingspan
Not large enough
To cover the map
Of America
The decadence of
Lighting candles
In the daytime
Need more light
To find you.
Paper talk.
Ribbons the space
Between.
Bird laid upon bird.
Pushing ink between
Silk, measures the distance
In Measures of Night.
Decadence of America
In between, […]

It is not white upon white but the thin hands of the delphinium.
Dandelion seed. Feather upon feather. The naming of birds.
It’s not the green of july, not the brass of a trombone, not the cool
cool clover resting beneath my shoulders.
It’s not the wheat of what binds us, not the juniper of words, […]