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sonnets
project ’25
we surf the amber waves of grain despite
the limbs of migrants bobbing like winter
ducks or despite maple oaks that burn all
throughout november december like a
flock of famished runners or despite your
new neighbor’s flagpole sublimating great
american soil into their pithy
party lines; despite your dead hope for more,
the sun still drizzled nectar down my spine
and leaves still turned from green to red to brown
Project ’25
we surf the amber waves of grain despite
the limbs of migrants, bobbing up and out
like summer ducks; in spite of redwoods, which
will burn all through november, then all through
december, january, too. despite
new neighbor’s flagpole sublimating soil
back into pithy party lines; despite
the baby batted out from mother's womb
the sun still drizzles nectar down your spine
and leaves still turn from green to red to brown
collecting by the gutters. don't forget
how winter marigolds sprout dogwoods come
spring. you can sleep soundly knowing how to
weave brawny baskets of old white oak splits.
basil — hate
cypress — death; mourning
dogwood — our love will overcome adversity
marigold — grief
cleaving ryegrass skin
american soil
and trump coin purchase
when fall should
be winter
or
despite the flagpole’s shadow cleaving ryegrass skin?
lost in japan
so, we made it. crinkle-cut napkins
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