Molecules
She sounds like cobblestone when she sleeps
but wakes early, before the grass the burning
bushes or tiger lilies, only the roots of our
willow are awake at this hour breathing,
Category / Poetry
Dionysiou Areopagitou Street
ancient marble frames
wide cobblestone,
hills and trees
as if
a painting
Just Past Wisconsin Ave. on 4th St.
I want to be someplace else
like the restaurant my father
drove us to when I was twelve,
downtown with fish tanks
For what it’s worth
If you want to measure your salt, bake.
Bake until you develop a crush
on the green ceramic knife and
linger at the kiss of good chocolate
Instinct
You
do not love
what I love, yet
want to come into my body
and take possession of something
A Graphologist’s Nightmare
I have a gift. Yes, I can channel your living
mother by examining her handwriting.
No, she won’t feel a thing. A simple sample
is enough – a 3 X 5 recipe card will do . . .
Vagrant Waltz
It’s time in mid-summer
to think about nothing,
turn from ideas,
make ice cream instead,
float on a raft of popsicle sticks.
Prague
To the girl in a striped dress
standing by the side of the road
like a ladybug with painted lips
as trucks trumpet and honk
Seeing the Tree
We must be watchful,
sort out at any given moment,
the day’s disturbance from what
lies beneath and endures,
She Asked
Without knowing how,
she asked
with every part of herself she knew how to use.
She slept curled in a question mark