how the sky was meant

softness of 6am light
stretched across the courtyard
pinks and oranges dissipating
into humid air


sweet and spicy good earth tea steaming
in silver thermos
mica and i pour sips onto tamar’s grave
(which sprouts day lilies, walking onions and yarrow)
under the shade of a grand tree that
i don’t know well enough to to know the name of


cody comes by with a baby sparrow
in the bottom of a ceramic pot
and we peer in


rehanna and i lunching at the counter
she asks what writing means
while i lift forkfuls of
pink-turned (beets) coleslaw
to my mouth


thirty per cent h.i.v. rate she says
about botswana
she also says democratic and peaceful


wherein i graduate
from little circles
on the circle gravel drive
to my first hill
heading east
and we take the gravel
til it meets pavement
and all of a sudden we are moving through/
background scrolling past us:
puffy clouds meet blue sky above and soft green hills below
the kind of coming alive
that only a bike reunion can bring
this is how the sky was meant to be seen


clink of ice in metal thermos
after i walk through the door
kurt offers me a bowl
of alline’s simple and perfect popcorn
which i carry upstairs
to my desk


kurt showing a few folks who came in on bikes
from the bay area
the upstairs of the mecantile:
the floorboards are from an old store
in la belle missouri
the floor in the sitting room
is from honey locust trees
cut form across the road
the doors and casings
are from a house torn down
outside of newark


butt cake she calls it
because she can never remember the name
of black-bottom cakes
ass cake we laugh


before the storm rolls in:






wherein i knee-hug
in the window
(wide as a strawbale
which means room enough)
while the cool storm air
moves in
under lightning strobes and
earth-crack thunder
and nowhere else
in no one else’s company
could be more


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