I am waiting for a file forever
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How many shards of glass after
the tumbler shatters

The year is just so

People I wish would love me
were never alive

And this pinhead
of blood on the child’s finger

is only a measure for the cotton ball
to call its own

*
Asleep on the seat after thrashing
to find come comfort in the blue
blanket folded over the armrest

His body slightly bigger than the seat
He walks to the window, asks what’s
on the back of the plane

I say tail say opossum and the window
holds his hand the hours
we’ve inhabited between spaces

*
The boy stands up in the dark
Shouts have you ever met a goggy
Two minutes later he promptly falls asleep

and we keep ourselves quiet as we can
as life bakes us into minutes and days

The blinking endlessness of it all
A few mouthfuls of nonsense then bliss

*
The dead bird on the roof
looks first like an owl

then turns out to be
a young red-tailed hawk

I’m not sure what
we can prevent

Its head contorted
The down above

its tail the only thing still
moving slight in the air

*
The boy wakes to indecision and thrashes
his form forward eye-first into the metal frame of the sleeper sofa

How are you today, no how are you today
A string of asking this with inflection that rises on you and day

I’m not sure what sounds to freak out about
It’s snowing here or about to snow

My phone buzzes when it’s empty
The mountains are at 60 percent
and the fields remind me of being youngish

In dented cars with cigarettes and we were busy learning
how not to care enough about anything

*
This isn’t a diary it is a day a practice
and all our deaths make us the same.

*
I’m never sure
when to be
quiet so
stay so
most
days

Any other kind
of habit may
be good
to esta
blish

*
Wait now more for some
planks of lighted fir

The boy presses his whole
form into the yay bright powder

Questions where the London Bridge is falling
and suggests the driver look it up.

A hat with mountains and two hands made out of coal
We skip water and cleaning

What image rhymes with tree

A dozen more months before a different future
sets the horizon free

*
I watch my son shout
excuse me in a restaurant
to stop us from talking

The times
are constant
in their dismay

It’s the part
of the year
where we go

Asking the day
to get on
with its growing

*
Comb bumblebees
into a distressed rhododendron
with your messy fist

I count half
of the kid's shoves
as a well

Pull the bucket
up by turns
and trust a canyon

to yell across
can’t be filled
So it’s easy

enough to become
everywhere
I put thistle

this letter
a whistle
inside the ring

White noise
written into
the headplate

A chestful
of buzzing that never
quite booms

*
The boy calls himself
You and we
try to collect the notion

of self but ask constantly
what lines are
collective boundaries

He asks in statements
Carry you        have breakfast
Get you down down stairs
Watch something?

We are all pronouns
sailing through some of the many hows
in the time before the sun