under the pull of a waxing crescent moon, at street level, on a hill,
I draw the blinds.
nearly walked into the web of an orange-and-yellow mottled spider today. they saw me coming and scurried to save themselves before the web got stretched and torn. but I ducked under, careful not to catch a strand.
who wants to know? things happen, and then it’s back to determined patterns, you say. saw a swan chasing geese. saw a robin close to where I sleep. at the level of my eyes they said hello. was it the same bird who’s been hanging out in the trees by the back door?
disco bass, like the pop of dried gum on trotting soles. I wore pants all summer for three decades. now I’m proud to say that I own shorts. got scrubbed from feet to calves by tiny fish in a murky river as the air hung thick and hot. that’s going beyond.
and now and now and now and now and now
it’s like the houses in the sky of the mind just build themselves.