AFTER THE WINDOW

Open the window
for the meadow...

now a single bloom
a blade of grass
                a spider
                a moth...of sun

now a wisp of flannel
around your finger
a flutter...on the side

of your hand
a lock of angora
a tip of fern

petals flickering
floating near death
to be traced

upon their descent

in a timeline

past opening

 

JUST LISTEN TO MY THROAT

Clapping in the
wildwood

to hear laughter
from specimens
born yesterday

testing the habitat
with useless slice
of sound,
the tremors

they reach the bark
it flies, slapping the
uncaretaker in the
face 

the tail of a monkey
doesn’t threaten the
neck, a waste of
time

its laughter,
lyrical

Put down your
hands...
and listen to                                                                                                     
my throat

 

THERE IS NO WATER

 She weeps in fists
these tears

 hammer cylindrical breaths
hopes tunneled
squeezed segments
of joy released in spurts
between forefinger and thumb
rolled pinky

she cries through
her pores
no sweat
nor in her heartbeat

 this freedom
will pull her through