Give us this day. Exhale the little thank you words, they’re quick, slip out our pores, clean hair. A shower. Soap and aspirin. Thank you. Whoever “you” might be.

A queer mist stands from the sea today, 
A queer color like the primary blue 
Supposed but never limed in the environs 

The blonde carrying the tote bag full of bones
Is dressed in a chiffon blouse printed with

Persimmon-colored butterflies

A gather of apricots fruit pickers left
gleam like reasons for light going higher, higher;
I look half as hard as I can to tease

We grappled that bird quiet between us
carefully holding its wings folded
and by whispers trying to calm the wild

The bow bent remembers home long,
the years of its tree, the whine
of wind all night conditioning

Mother is gone. Bird songs wouldn’t let her breathe.
The skating bug broke through the eternal veil.
A tree in the forest fell; the air remembered.

In a world where no one knows for sure
I roll my blanket for the snow to find:
come winter, then the blizzard, then demand—

My mother, who opened my eyes, who 
brought me into the terrible world, 
was guilty. Her look apologized: 

You would think while the hours helped,
if the wind was right, then follow
a current along shore till a beach