I won’t claim
(for Alice Burdick)

this is all that happens
but I will say it is a true
representation of what you see here.

By the time you finish reading
you will be older. Sadder.
Wiser. If you were a flower and
you read this, you would be a flower
desired by bees.

You lie in the green bristles
friend to grass, lover of grass, ally of softness
and open like petals. That’s where
the bee gets in, shimmies through pollen.

I won’t claim the calm of sky but
you’ve got a good view there
on the grass and you think
what you can. Jams. Jellies.

Small faces floating peacefully, closed eyes
like petals. It’s your brain
that’s a can. Inside things float that last.
Summer song. An old bicycle. Beer.
Your children loving you the length of
their lengthening bones.

You sit to a bowl of clam chowder made by
daughter. A hurricane. Sugar cane.
Citizen Kane. Abel’s brother. Day seeps
over one horizon making room
for night to pour over the other

I won’t claim night
for dreams where you’re double
booked for funerals. Goodnight mother.
Grandpa. Father. Or that life

represents your life. If I had to choose
between bee and flower I’d
choose summer day.
Several Fishes Can Walk on Land
the hip bone is a sacral rib
within the fish we studied
a sacral rider —
hello

several fjords walk on landslides
walk on flashbacks
flame-throw latch-key
walk languid

the hive bookcase is a rifle
secretly walking lanterns
fistfuls waking landowners
flames milling a lasso

the hoax cooking is a sacral rig
a morphological vehicle
that secretly walks on lapels
a subject consistency

a sacral right-hander that
washes larches
morphological vendettas
secretly wilting lard

the hobo shelf is a sacral rigmarole
a submarine consonant
secretly walloping clerks
flash cubes wait laughs

secret larval welks
a wet-dream larynx
the holograph boozer’s sacral ring
a secreted lash

those with the most robust “hip”-bones have
the best walking ability
several fishes warp land