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I hear her voice in the shivering tambourines of leaves.

We walk in light so steep I can see each single stitch of your sweater.

I only feel that here, only here, in this one place, a small rise.

Think of the fish whose stripes appear only on cooking through. Fold each thought: the highway stop where toilet paper is piled.

In a future we believe in, these plants will all be ghosts.

Our bed a garden of the littlest sighs of our waking. Our room, abstract.

I know you want your mother’s dial tone like you want a KFC box.

Let me stay here, in the thick of the sweetness, just a moment longer.

A strange odd lost duck day all over—sunrise with a honed edge.

We hung our posters at the drugstore, at the grocery, at city hall. I tacked up a 1970s Earth Day poster from my mother’s classroom. We tie-dyed shirts, and I bought everyone a plastic visor to paint.

Keely finally stops crying when they step outside. The shock of cold.

We imagined the train routes through the heart of the country.

Your image is on my credit card, you and the old red, white, and blue.

Beyond the glib off-white palisades lies the answer to an urban dream.

Am I here without me just as I was before when stars spoke.

Reviewers are curs and their opinions are not to be taken seriously.

I am always hungry & wanting to have sex. This is a fact.

Even glaciers have phone lines even Roquefort has its soft tufts of sweet

I wish to see the land release my heart from the corpse of longing.

Now the long freight of autumn goes smoking out of the land.

The sunrise does not blaze fiercely but spreads in a gentle flush.

It seems too late for them to change, to find a way to survive awake.

I looked out at the busy world, and I saw nothing but its ugly bones.

We pried the last of the pallid squid from their crevices and ate them.

She transfigured into a swallow in flight, or a hippo in the rainy season.

He phones from across the country after lying in the grass with another.

Bees may not be bought. Our children may never know apples.

The night was clear, a fat kingfish moon in the sky with stars.

After the child died they mourned oddly. She wanted another.

A queen bobcat lives in the hollow base of a dead cypress.