something scapular

in the dream, the pink sunset fire
(and gray smoke thick and rising)
was moving along horizon
a broad sweep
and we strategized with water
(gathering and transporting)
and shovels for tamping
as if it isn’t a swell
a singeing tsunami
hurtling across landscape

steam rising from
big wooden bowl on butcher block
as i lift the plate off its top
revealing an abundance of
silver dollar pancakes
teacup joseph says
the name of the corduroy cat/pillow
named after an actual cat
that i pull beige thread through

i’m back on board i say
and reference that part of the footprints poem
that says something about
how jesus says
the times there were only one set
of footprints
were the times i was carrying you
how i can see the network of nerves
where boi presses fingers
and manipulates muscles
accompanied by the lift-fall
of my deep breathing and my
mutter/whinings of
that shit is fucked up
(meaning the knots my muscles/ligaments/tissue
tied themselves into and why and how)

if only i could type like this
i motion with my hands behind me
under the cypress tree
while alyssa explains things
about muscles whose names
i’ll never remember
though one of them
was something scapular

i detour from dumping buckets
of just plucked weeds
(from herb garden spearmint beds)
to suck in lilac scent

reporting live and direct
from the greenhouse i say
to a satellite that
sends my words/sound to a
phone ranging somewhere
in northern new mexico

sky reads rain
(sunset clouding over
except for a poke-through
where pink/orange spills out)

we ordered them for ya’ll
and they arrived just in time i say
to baigz and mica upon their 40-mile
bike ride return (tired and victorious)
about the fireflies blinking
on and off around us in
post-dusk sky


from the water world:


A man lies on the ground as Turkish police use a water cannon to disperse protestors during a May Day rally near Taksim Square in Istanbul. – voice of america, day in photos

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