You seed yourself like grasses in a field but also between the ochre stones of an ancient street. You bring on darkness and sunrise.
We pull cords across the lumps of our mattress and strap it—encased in plastic—to the roof of our car. Neither of us could push
Would infant-racket, sun-glare, angry sky build or bury a life? We met late in the day, a hundred seconds to midnight on the doomsday
shaking cottonwoods, this whisper and shimmer of leaves? Is it tonight’s full moon, the quicksilver of clouds, the sky’s star-thick seas? By day, I