Dreaming in Wine Country
This dream is a teenaged revision of terrestrial bodies /
that do not harm. Our eyelids like foldaway flowers. My heart like a
gosling I follow /
expecting your mouth pulling north.
The Sadness Factory
Still, tomorrow the mud /
will evaporate dust back into the sky & the moon /
will be a pill & catch on the throat of the horizon, /
& this helps no one.
IN THE AUTUMN OF MY SECRECY
The people that loved me /
made me lentils and rice, sat with me /
in the quiet that held space like a /
coat around me.
There’s something called time
& I will soon fly to meet you in a city
where the seasons are made lazy
by latitude, meaning we will not yet
know each other’s bodies in winter.
self-portrait as a boy languaging through fragmental spaces
the truth is/ my mother still tongues
your name at night/
but no language can translate you back to life.