while it’s being tossed
from hand to hand, I brought a
plate and some butter

Wild creatures stampede
through that forest fire, my heart.
Hear it and feel it.
Throw your dictionary out.
You’re going where words can’t go.

We cannot hope for
escape from casualties
or an end to war.

The sound of birdsong 
before dawn, coaxing the sun
to rise one more time. 

The sound of the fan
as it turns on the ceiling 
over my bedroom. 

The sound of voices
in this old house, the groaning
laments, the singing. 

I wake up, tired and nauseous from the night before. 
Damp bedsheets that feel like a stray jacket. 
My head is pounding, and my heart is racing.  

I worry I’ll never feel happy again. 

I say I’d like to remain
but I grow restless  and life calls
so I step out
sick from this modern motion I arrive to the tumult of quietude
I thought I would recognize the figures before me
we speak weekly so surely there’s no loss of identity
but there it is  a mom  a dad
long past their do

settling into their nothingness
efforting to hit the refresh button I will
recognize their faces  once again

Shivers rally through my body.
Icy lightning pulses that turn to burning flames.

As your eyes catch mine,
doe wide and pupils blown.

Flashing your predator smile.

Pointed canines poised and ready,
to sink
into
the deepest parts of me

Where do we go in the darkness
How do we find the light
When there’s no one coming
Will there be anyone to fight  

Where do we go in the darkness
How do we find the light
When they lock us up for speaking
Who will assert their right  

Where do we go in the darkness
How do we find the light
When they round us up for existing
Will anyone make it right  

Where do we go in the darkness
How do we find the light
When they string us up for loving
Who will use their might

Your shadow is a silhouette within
when sighing of cruel silence comes to call
my mind to dance a distance that depends. 

From corners of my longing, you ascend
& brush my face & float into my all—
a shadow that’s the silhouette within. 

The quirk of lip, the quest of hand, that wends
past wearied days & weathered, stony walls:
My mind a’dance a distance that depends. 

Your phantom fingers trace what they intend
til you & I, in one expressive sprawl,
are shadows kissing silhouettes within. 

I taste you still—a past that yet portends
a future of this waiting that forestalls
you mine: A dance & distance that depends. 

Can we become true union & transcend
one man, one woman, flesh that’s born to fall,
when shadows past are silhouettes within
two minds that dance in distance?  It depends.