One of the women crouches at the edge of the cliff rolling things with shells over the edge. Clams, birds’ eggs, turtles, peekytoe crabs,
after Alberto Rios We give because we are broken We give because we are mending We give because our lip is bruised We give
Oh, the baritone drone of your blower fan dumb as a woodchuck waiting for weeds to grow. Some anxious neighbor reported you to the
Understand blue as sweet, iridescence of a pearl whose cloister seasoned sweet; drink in the soft pedal of a newly painted house excited