Twice, now.

He is present in my dreams, still as his role.
Watching, but not always. Reminding, even when quiet.
I wonder what he wants.
I wonder what I want.

Perhaps I dream of him because I long for a witness.
To be seen so fiercely, to feel so safely—
For only one hour a week, paid.

Perhaps, what I want is just that:
A dream.

I am a temple
One that rots from the inside
There’s no solace here

plans lie in wait
claims barked supple
necessitate clarity

]I want
I want
I want
I want
I want
to feel healed

]you need
you nee
you n
d you
ed you
n

why estrange ,chaos
spring her snare
there is n[
] want
you
me

imagine else
imagine other
enact
synapse
tasks of
]not your

servant
]your
a-health
]your hole
or burden

push
puncture the surface
pull
needle and thread
weaving prayers and stars
hopes
dreams
meeting ancestors round circle
as we stitch
what lies beyond the mind
onto canvas
through generations back
push
pierce the veil
pull
visions and smoke
let rise
the prayers
bone
deep

In the time it took to explain
to the Alabama-plated Uber driver
the location of my neighbor’s door
and to confirm the direction 
allowed by the street signs

The June sun had burned his white van 
so deep into my retinas
that roughly two minutes later 
I could still see it, in perfect detail
first in white, then in carmine

Complete with tire and
bumper cut-outs
three distinct windows, side mirrors
and a racing stripe.

On the sidewalk it appeared the same size 
it’s original had been from the street,
but somehow it shrank down
into my coffee when I went to drink.

I bumble around,
eyes red after a long sleep,
and begin to scream.

Yesterday KS had nothing to say and today is not any different. 
Just saying. 

was paved over the “good people”
& sure they are pissed

the branches of their lairs crowded
by highways that curve too close

their ring forts bulldozed
leaving sheep and crops to fate 

once cozy underground tunnels
out of plain sight

for 3000 years of safe keeping
now torn apart by tractors

like three-day-old bundt cakes
tossed aside by progress

& wouldn’t you know
“rare microclimates” started causing

sudden hailstorms sliding cars
off the blacktop & into the past

I’m living in a strawberry world
hands stained
answering questions as to origin, pick date, ripeness
I have sold, purchased, given away
eaten for breakfast, lunch, dessert
     a tiny season of my life before
the sweet juiciness is replaced with mid-June’s alternatives
vegetables, which will also bring joy
yet a different kind
substantial sure, but not as cheery
I enjoy offering the literal fruit of someones labor