2/29/16

a springwarm leap day
pulling dusty strings of morning glories
from where, in death, they hug the chain-link

now piled on the softening dirt
still kinked, knot of decay

2/28/16

sprawling like an open hand,
the spider plant
cast down a feeler
sewn with pearls -
five white flowers

2/27/16

reemerging into the sight
of a thousand sidewalk eyes
my skin feels soft
and penetrable
like a freshly molted cicada

2/26/16

the stones, in daylight
nosed by grazing oxen,
grow weird in darkness -
vestibule to the wicked wild,
a place to sharpen teeth and run

2/25/16

she comes to the door
with snow-wet hair
and a gleaming white light
like Clara Barton pulling
a lantern from her cape

2/24/16

in the unlit kitchen
i brew coffee and stand
barefoot, watching
stone-black clouds
cascade down the mountain

2/23/16

the hour spent
eating bread and butter
with my small son,
sitting at his toy table
in the dusty morning light