“In lethargy I revise myself. I loiter in the lily’s canal." -Rodney Jones
There is a sky-yellow blanket around my shoulders.
I sit cross-legged on the couch.
Breath breath breath.
The cans crushed under the foot of a picker are ten and eight.
The wind visited twice to slam the dumpster door.
One far away siren.
The earth tilts and spills tidewater in my bath.
My mind—the prow on a catboat—sails out.
Tack tack tack.
Passing by the refrigerator door, I note
the white board is wet and whistle-clean.
Last night I blew up my lists under a full moon.
I sounded a trumpet over all my newly decommissioned tasks.
I searched and found antonyms for assign and prescribe.
Uncover uncover uncover.
This morning I sink into the grand complexity of granola,
top soil, the glume of oats, the carapace of a Brazil nut.
the flesh of almonds, hazel eyes.
In the alley—the unassuming power of green shoots.
My entire future is afternoon tea,
with a friend.