You’ve carried the antique, silk threads of pink and ivory, inside from the back yard. It’s raining. In the morning, springs sag when you
After the barely averted disaster—the plane dropping on stuck wings down the thin cliff of cloud— skewing to the airport’s red homing eye before
She’s the windowpane greasy bloom of dust on the glass stunned bird in the dirt splayed in the space between this world (clocks and