I swallowed a sword for dinner,
and when it dropped straight
through me, the hole it made
worked wonders. I’m empty
perpetually, all this blood drains.
My heart takes such a beating. 
I make it earn its place. Prove
it’s no scrap metal. I’ve found
playing god is only as much fun 
as what I can control. I crave
recklessly, then crave absolution. 
For years I’ve been calmly fixated.
There never was much fear 
once I decided, settled, goals set.
I can look past all this stupid dying.
I can look past all this fat and muscle.
I can dig the vision out of me.
I just have to be careful about this.
Maybe hold myself over with a knife
for lunch, maybe skip breakfast.

Soak up on the beautiful sounds of nature –
on the most loved refrains of your favorite music.
Splurge on spending for things you adore.
Listen more often to the music you love.

Treat your soul to the best of your joy.
You’ll be ready to give your best effort,
to give whatever you can,
to maintain all the freedoms
we have in this U.S.A. land.

!.
Last evening you hollered
at our dog when she started
to shit in your flower garden.
She jumped up and ran out
of the yard to the cow pasture
before she resumed her efforts.
together we shouted Good Girl

2. 
Soon after sunrise we take
implements to the ground
behind the soap shop to battle
Johnson Grass to the death

3.
We look up when a truck
towing a hay rake goes by.
Dividing Ridge Road 
runs in front of our house,
after a mile it dead ends
at another house 
which is in a different county.

4.
Forgetting the mail yesterday
you walk out to the box
and see two baby skunks 
strolling leisurely up the road.
When you get back you tell me
how cute they are

5.
i just remebered 
how in first light
you came upstairs
to rouse me out of bed:
Come and listen
to the wildy blooming
mimosa tree humming
with thousands of bees

6.
The battery powered lawn 
tractor has a flat tire.
I put it in the back of the car
and google Tire World.
Damn they’re closed on Saturdays.
You tell me to relax
and drink a glass of ice water

7.
At the heat of the day
we come in to rest, we are
growing improbably old

8.
We walk out under the four
giant pine trees who live 
along the fence line.
Wind from a coming storm
sounds like crashing waves
coming ashore
 
9.
After dinner we sit in rockers
on the kitchen porch
keeping the same two thoughts
from being said aloud:
how did we get here
and how do we get from here to there

My knees ache like they 
Weren’t made to carry me through 
This dumb fucking life 

when I feel ocean tongue sloppy kiss my soul
like my dog happy to have me home   

when I hear rain drops jigging on my skull –
happy for their fall from cumulus rage  

a moment
bringing question without possibility    

while watching clouds slow-waltz
in comatose sky                       

a moment        when I realize
I never really knew these clouds at all  

a moment     
when cool mist on desert skin   

becomes just a momentary joy – a tease –
like winter’s day that begs to stay  

through summer’s torment
a moment that comes  

from the crater of me – a darkness –
wanting only moon as salve  

I don’t know where god is
but these moments                  must be close

I’ll gladly shuttle
you to your heart’s desire, just —
Don’t forget to tip

A list of people I texted a selfie to while waiting for a ride to my first Pride:
my spouse, my long distance partner, my old boss, my best friend and mentor, my pen pal

A list of people I didn’t text:
my parents, my siblings, my in-laws

To Gillet Pond
          In wildness is the preservation of the world                 
                                             -Thoreau

          Find the trailhead beyond cell reach

How does one push through overwhelm? The news buries me beneath a mountain of anxiety, so I leave my swivel chair spinning when I ditch my computer inside. The trick
is to turn off all notifications and badges on your smartphone. Misnomer. Maybe holdouts without such devices are the smart ones. Silence the dings from the family’s group chat, appointment reminders, and memories of this past year’s losses.

          A warbler breaks into my head
                             with a trill

I agree, Henry David. (I’ve pulled out my pocket notebook while I sit on a fallen log to say this.) Under the canopy, I worry that I am a woman alone in the woods. Fear hurries me
to a place of seclusion, surrounded by fallen limbs and the green understory, the air gravid as an overdue woman whose water is ready to break. At the pond, I am safe in Mother Earth’s arms. Why must I let fear waylay me? Distant traffic sounds carry. Wary.  Always, there’s a reason. But, look: an American copper and a grizzled skipper have landed on the nearby orange butterfly weed. I pull out my camera.

          Nature paintings:
               ascendant trail markers