I turn you on             chlorine and all

dusk                                  greet Turkish blue suedish shoes
          and my neighbor 

grounding my feet to wisps of shaded grass on a bald north yard

periwinkles stretching out in their beds like unwoke men on subways

he asks if I knocked on his door while he was in the shower.

While I shower these baby plants

still surprised watering them in shade is harder than all the other steps to getting them to grow

I order                         more drip hoses
             half a dozen 

nice to have a neighbor who talks to me

it’s only taken four years

hoses clumsily snake around baby bolted lettuces

calendula yarrow marigold

newly chewed kohlrabi

and I wonder all night whether I should have sprinkled wldflower seeds on this area we flood together

I cant sleep, hands burn, try to fast,
finally break it to take the pain medicine

                                                                       whose mechanisms I still don’t understand

not opiate

not cannabinoid

but still
like them it

messes with my peace

once it wears off

it’s been nine months since last time

not pregnancy

just aversion to feeling shitty after medicine wears off, in general

I wander a house

eleven becomes Perry Mason three

PBS yoga five

dawn again

ive changed clothes twice

it’s been seven hours

everything feels dirty

on this skin

when covid’s coming

or going

kitchen and bathroom sinks sing multimelody together

this Mongolian throat singing in of pvc

under-the-household music

I guess this makes the mouth our front door

as the plumbing hisses