You seed yourself like grasses in a field but also between the ochre stones of an ancient street. You bring on darkness and sunrise.
What is on your clothesline? My red pajamas, my mother’s blue shawl, jittering with wind, wild as jazz, clean as a storm. Where did
Even now, walking this city’s cobbled streets, I am rowing to the pebbled shore. Twenty-five years later and I am plunging the oar into
You brim with my long-ago eyes and your lips on my name give it back to me. My ghost beats with blood and thrums