my drowsy hand crackles the bag full of / braided hair full of braided time. the sun fills my ears and i sweat-dream it out: me, somewhere soon, seen but not noticed, smoothed down and seaglassed. unobstacle to. my eyes, bottle green and just as translucent.

I can name any season, but the trees I love will die
where they are. That what it means to become a light

year, to become memory: never stay long enough
to know belonging the way water’s face knows the sky,

the world’s translucent lung—the deadliest mammal
& the quietest. Read more →

Chatting begins and doesn’t
seem to go anywhere in particular.
Conversation moves
from people never being prepared for snow
in a city so cold already
with how we treat each other
on public transit, to a sci-fi thriller
about a comet with a green tail
passing through the sky, while a dinner party occurs
and the guests start disappearing
one by one.

Because the veil was lifted.
Because the dog has rabies.
Because the soul sleepwalks into a mirror
and our desire is increased by difficulty.
Because disappointment is an obstacle,
like longing, like fate.
Because I died young and beautiful.
Because I will not die young and beautiful. Read more →