how we lean

two sounds:
wind in the trees, in the corn, through my
small silver earring hoops and
my running-shoed feet hitting the ground


view past the clearing:
lightning streaks greet me in the east
above the thin red/orange horizon line
glowing out from under the blue/gray curtain
of sky


for life i joke
with a hand gesture
sweat-sheened and shower-bound
when trish asks
if i’m still training


i point to the pine and ask
have you climbed this tree yet
it’s the best climbing tree ever


i could inhale that all
day long i say of the
fresh ground cardamom and nutmeg
(and every other spice that goes
into darien’s well-made chai)


plucking edamame plants from
the sandy north garden soil
in a race against the rain that
thunder and wind allude to


sharon says something about how
she’ll always be an outsider (culturally)
but she still calls them (in ecuador)
her family
call me naive she says
and talks about connecting across
cultures and the joy of
seeing/sharing each others


just a few of the
knuckle tattoos
that happened in the gigantic round
of the knuckle tattoo game of chance:
clam clam
icey flea
rude pest
butt pump


how we lean
into each other
when we laugh

a room of us
passing the sound and
bag of nouns


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