Sunlight and tree limbs sway across the back fence, An Indonesian shadow play. The villain is my aloe vera In the large clay pot.
I mind to my footing on this rocky trail, raise my collar against the wind’s soft howl, the sound of clattering tree branches sinking
No wonder I like fish. Not the food as in pescado, but the life that swims like a question mark in the body with
Surf’s edge, the shallow trough I dig for her to lie in, mound high with wet, heavy sand. Több, she says, több, for me