with stars
the evening’s clear. wisteria gilds the gates,
expectant, like the thought that in
some mail truck, over town, there waits your book
of poems from a friend
the evening’s clear. wisteria gilds the gates,
expectant, like the thought that in
some mail truck, over town, there waits your book
of poems from a friend
a flourishing potted tree, decorated with tiny
foil-wrapped gift boxes. a rotting gourd,
squirrel-bitten, and carefully placed atop
a fence, peppered with ants
the roses that i’d placed on the mantel
didn’t know whether to bloom or rot
so they did both at once, black-spot and yellow mold
decorate the apricot petals
quiet trickle-mist
thick wet wind chimes
heart races–what’s next?
this alone
we pretended it was raining in the classroom
and crept along the walls, under
imaginary awnings, where the ants were right at home
dry and above our fingertips