Of which link have you made between the dreamer’s past, present, and future heartaches are you most proud?

So small on the full bed, he naps. I hope he learns names of countless once and living things: limestone sandstone black bits of shale–a little marvel to see each day–a little kid and me because I ache too much now witnessing Wonder when I’m alone. Sometimes I just need to lie down in the rain, for someone to swallow me whole. I am all husk, hollowed out, peeking into empty rain spouts, scratching chitan. The grackles cack and complain summer is not lonely.

Which gives you the most trouble: altering settings, drowning, blurred vision, or overlapping faces?

I still see Dad in his chair
listening to his favorite music
with his eyes half-closed.
It was my arms that knew him
and the ways we carry each other:
nightly phone calls grew into lists
of meals, music, naps.
Dad needed to know
I was okay
        (How long could you carry him?                 You takin’ him home?                   
                                                             Yes, home.)

Rank yourself in terms of prolonged daytime reverberation.

The boat is sinking.
There’s a shark 10 yards away from the boat.
A lot of shark attacks lately,
their surgical steel practicality camouflage[s] tiny knives.

Other people, they can no longer see them.
The dumb, too distracted to collect words,
spit out the first dribble–
white shit spangles on the cement