Open slow the squeaky screen door into the hush of a strange house the weight of dimmed light, dark drapes, corded rugs. The slow
I watch over you like the fat-faced moon who winks the window when you buckle in the eddies of dreams. You breathe underwater, surface
My father doesn’t like two-laned roads, the cars always coming at you. He prefers the highway’s straight lanes, newscasters shouting on the radio, You