I dug after your life
with my longing and cold
grasp on the facts.
Webs circled and crossed my head
I couldn’t see them
I just saw you,
trying to clear the gap
with all science and nature
afforded you.
I didn’t want you to fall.
To see you drown,
swirling in ginger soap.
And yet, I helped.
At that point,
you were past the point,
never crawling up the spout again.
Never weaving invisible things
I strained to see.
Never catching, never hunting,
never waiting in the shadows
of the basement–
where you’d possibly lived for years.
Keeping things as you wanted them.
Maybe, I met you on the first day.
Maybe you watched me block
The point of entry for some of your food.
I watched your legs scratch over the cardboard.
Set it aside,
watched you walk away.
I didn’t want you to fall,
to let the water take you.

Color of Twilight

There are still some blue
spots left
“It makes a difference
who you know,” she says.
Her voice is an echo
she can’t pinpoint her favorite song
and then today:
Two left feet.
Woke up on the wrong side.
Trusted the dark sidewalk
while the last of the blue
Could never, ever be the same
blue again–
or could it?
Is the blue color of the sky a science?
Is it always the same CYMK,
Always the same RGB?
She might never wonder this,
the dark sidewalk
might hold surprise.
Roots, trash.
She might fall, never again ponder
her favorite song title.

Bridges, Roads, Rivers 

“They’ll never make it!”
on the path to the bridge
under the magic stars.
Never give up,
never listen to the words
one small starling said when
his confidence failed him,
draining slowly to the end
of the Nile–
left decumbent, deserted,
chasing after floating
seeds in the wind.
The bridges will crumble,
the roads impassable.
The prayers will come,
perhaps the world–
Never listen to them
when they say
it cannot.