we flutter a delicate
we seek snow and find instead
pupils spark turned upwards 
blinking blind from fire to sky
a scintilla
a meteor
piles of dead insects
in your bed
blast-away motes  
cautious in the cateye
hallowed holes for cantankerous crabs 
a daring blink and the universe will skip us
so here you slide your hand up my thigh 
the polyester sleeping bag swishes around us
a whispering windstorm amid giggles and burps
we seek fall and find instead 

Everything in a moment.
Everything in motion
The mouth of the stream muttered wet poetry, “Sull’aria.”
The deer moved softly. Ballerinas on the tips of their toes. Tap tap tap the surface of the earth. The herd of ten uttered no farewell. Spindly cervine shadows disappeared into obscured forest.

He bowed his head into a coffin
 and a yellow fluid ran from his mouth 
onto the floor. 

pretend that you live near a stream
and the water of that stream makes strangers fall asleep
and when they sleep, they are vulnerable

pretend that your blood is wanted and you’re running
you always wanted to be on the run, 
because fear frees flightless birds

pretend you are young
pretend you have romance on your side
we could go sledding if you weren’t cold,
we could go skating if you weren’t cold,
we could do anything but you’re fading 

 My neighbor has not played clarinet for weeks—there were no sounds, there was no music. A drought of music. A curse of lingering, stagnation, with no sign—no promise—just the emptiness like a blank, opaque circle—and I was at the center of it--
Until today. I can breathe again—finally free from the weighted responsibility of suspense. Momentarily. 
The swan has returned.