My attention isn’t long enough
for poems of more than one page.

Give me the pithy wisdom
of haiku or a triolet.

Sonnets are a stretch
but still doable.

Sun stretches

I pick black raspberries
and wander through the yard

wind blows hilltops
trees dance

I pause to watch clouds crack open
letting light escape in broken angles

right at the edge of dark.

In another life you were London and I was Paris.
Enemies from the beginning, connected in secret.
Only united to face a common threat.
We threw down our swords and did what we could.
The broken heart was sleeping and we let it rest for a few more hours.
In the end we parted, the greatest of our name, but not the same.
City of Dreams, City of Lights, night and day, cloud and sun.
I say I hate you but darling we both know I don’t mean it.

2 sets of twin sheets, 3 bath towels
You will be away for a month.
sleeping bag, 3 bathing suits
I was never so brave. 
stamps, cards, envelopes 
I will write you. 
fan, flashlight
Please write
me. 

Water pours from the faucet, into the pot.

It’s not ice yet, but it’s very cold.

It’s almost like the motion of flowing from one place to the next,

Is the only thing keeping it from becoming solid.

You learned in your science class that ice is a crystal.

It’s like a precious gem.

It’s frozen in a simple shape,

That is so beautiful,

That people who work all day long,

Spend the money they earn just to hold it in their hands.

Unlike precious gems, ice is impermanent.

Ice is just another kind of water, 

Sometimes water freezes solid, but water is always flowing,

Moving. 

It never stops changing from one thing to the next.

You set the pot on top of a flame.

The pot heats up, until it’s so hot, you don’t dare touch it, for fear of being burnt.

Then the water jumps up into the air,

And it’s caught by the wind.

You were never the kind of kid who jumps in puddles,

But you were always like the water.

You live in a world that’s made up of days,

Each moment is a gem, but each day is a river.

Today, you sail in a boat, that floats on a river,

And you let the wind carry you,

Until the day in your world fades to night, and you look up at the stars.

You think about how each of those stars is the source of a day.

Then, day is just a word.

When you come home, you make a paper boat.

Then, you’re a kid again, and you sail on puddles which become as big as an ocean,  

But you never stomp in them.  

You don’t see the end of the street as an obstacle.

Beyond the paved road is a muddy green field,

And between the grass and the asphalt,

You watch the rainwater collect in a puddle.

Slowly, it seeps into the ground, or clings to your shoes, or returns to the clouds.

The water has its own way of playing,

Just like you and your friends play in the field.

I am still living the question of gender.

For over a decade

after coming out to myself as trans,

I identified as bi-gender.

Partly because I had to.

I didn’t think

I could ever transition.

When I first discovered

my inner girl,

I felt sad.

I knew she would always be

a hidden room in my house.

She mostly lived online.

She would come out

at pride festivals

and retreats

and private parties.

About two years ago,

during a conversation

with a friend,

I finally admitted

I don’t want to live in

the closet forever.

I want to be free

to be myself,

to wear what I want to wear,

to not have to hide

so much of myself.

I am working

towards gaining

the financial

independence

to come out safely

even as the world

around me seems

to be burning down.

Political hatred of trans people

is on the rise.

I am more enmeshed

in the family business.

But also,

I don’t know who I want to be.

I know I want to wear pink

and be called by my female name

and not be called “sir.”

I don’t hate the body

or the person

who got me this far.

But am I ready to give him up?

And am I feminine enough?

I can’t even do my own makeup.

If I get what I want,

will I be ready for it?

I could live

as non-binary.

It would be harder

to explain to people.

And I’m not sure

it’s what I really want.

My joy is when

I am seen as fully female.

I still carry the question inside of me.

How am I going to live in this world?

The music is blaring, but not enough for the lyrics 
to be heard clearly over the chitter of the register, 
the plastic-haired sportscaster’s enthusiastic play- 
by-play from the television, the din of town drunks 
clinging lopsidedly to the bar, beer-brave voices 
chuffing and squealing, accompanying the lone 
man with a guitar and a chipped tip jar, careless 

curls falling damp over his forehead, perched atop 
a three-legged stool and singing from the soul with 
his eyes closed. I close mine too, hoping the loss 
of sight will quell this feeling that the insectile gaze 
of every pair of eyes is skittering across my hide 
but instead it amplifies the atmosphere, this sharp 
edge intensity, until I can almost taste the colors 

in the room. The early summer breeze creeps lazily 
towards my corner table through open doors, twining
itself around the sweating lowball glass in a sultry 
embrace. The stout old fashioned begrudgingly begins 
to give up its coolness, orange twist and cherry red 
treasures sunk to the amber bottom—a watery house 
bourbon grave—and I try to imagine myself there

languid limbs floating weightless in the glass, engulfed
in melting ice and bitters that drown every other sound 
except that sweetly spiced voice, and when his final
song ends, I’m the only one who claps.

wisdom says
Space is needed
grasshopper
space and time

the cards say
you’ve been going it alone
for a while
you’ve repaired the wreckage
of so many lost voyages
with gold
“you can’t hurry this time”
“exercise patience”

may I be so bold
as to ask this of you
ancestors/spirit guides
& Algorithms of consciousness
do you remember how first love felt?
    or first love after the last one
you swore you would never have
is it like yesterday for you?
the call to be present with another being
sharing heartbeats without speaking
hearing the quietude of each other’s bliss
no questions to be had 
except this

who’s gonna say it first?

because I sure can’t
It hasn’t had enough time
in the fridge, to marinate

then again

some of the best-cooked
salmon steaks
didn’t take that much time at all

wish me luck
teachers
wish me luck 
and thanks for all the fish

Bathed in the sun’s energy, full tilt,
    let the longest day’s light carry you
        through the moonless nights, alone and still.

Bathed in the sun’s energy, full tilt,
    the earth leans to gather her fill,
          pour into the empty, begin anew.

Bathed in the sun’s energy, full tilt.
    Let the longest day’s light carry you.

Oranges
Carrots
Monarch butterflies

Peaches
Sweet Potatoes
Pumpkins Pies

Gold Fish
Marigolds
Kumquats

Cantaloupe
Tumeric
Papaya

Autumn leaves
Butternut Squash
Amber

Amber carried the DNA of the mosquito that evolved into Jurassic Park

Orange is the color of our flaming sun

The color of breaking dawn

Orange is a desert sunset

The color of the painted mountain glow