FEBRUARY MOON

for Stephanie

Wind rushes in a vortex around the courtyard outside your bedroom. Needles cling to their boughs as air currents make their turns and rattle the rickety windows of the old apartment building. And there you are, in bed, limbs wrapped in currents of warm blankets and a stuffed dog, the room silvered with the chill of the bright February moon; your face in the state of still that sleep brings.

Strange delights

The moon is hanging low in the sky like a warm, heavy ball of dough tonight. Last week I laughed at a song because it flirted with me. It's been 25 years, and I have only now thought to ask whether you like to dance.

SNOW DAYS

Snow acts as a damper for sounds, but it makes footsteps crunchier. How much shit is hiding in the frozen pack? How many sounds were trapped there?

Argument

The power of your skin stretching over your knuckles like a landscape, a work of art, that is majesty. They cannot argue with the beauty of your hands and so they cannot argue with your existence. You are royalty.

ROADTRIP HAIKU #2

Car going sixty.

Moonlit river rushes by.

Helical winds blow.

It has come to my attention

It has come to my attention that I am a romantic and also that the world may end, and so, if there's to be no air to breathe, no room for truth or liberty, and if tomorrow we could be pulled apart in a world cleaved, then all I ask is this: let me hold your hands and head, and tell me what you cherish and dread as we stare down the abyss.

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY ANXIETIES RE: 2016'S POLITICAL ATMOSPHERES

The sound an acorn makes after being kicked, that skittering sound of the nut's hard shell against asphalt, the tap, tap, tap sound as the nut comes to a rest in an intersection.