Jan. 28 am
Buckled stone names bones.
This ground is older than war.
River slips. Attends.
Jan. 28 pm
Polish your line--when
choked, I laughed rubies. I hold
broke teeth in my mouth.
Jan. 29 am
Listen, wait, take shape.
Luna moth stirs on your tongue.
Soon you speak your wings.
Jan. 29 pm
Rock-caught starfish holds
your gaze, flexes in brine. To
know only this--what bliss.
Jan. 30 am
I dreamed of such thirst,
a white horse at the well. No
water could quench it.
Jan. 30 pm
From his deep chair I'm
unspooled. "You're a tearful bird,"
origami thinned.
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