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Junk Drawer

…But here it was
a box of epithets typed
in mysterious symbols,
a pile of hurts
drawn from the drawer

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Weight

Losing count
eyeing the scarred mixing bowl
mentally calculating weighty things
the mound of white
keeps quiet

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Poking fingers trembling into the void of reason…

These are not new lines…these are ancient fissures…

when anger sewn

vapid wishes drift…

On translucent pins
________ knitted from scales
I tread lightly

trees dream of touching

Burr oaks and sugar maples
ancient, barrel-chested sentries
staunchly line

Emptiness crowds

into crevices once

overflowing with you —