the weight and shape
of mouse-body
(small gray-brown creature
who woke me with their
slow and struggling
sound of plastic trap thwapping
against floor/wall
as it clamped down on
its small rodent neck)
this morning cupped
in palm

i’m tied to the wall i tell honna
on the corded telephone
and we laugh at
the image/idea of
putting the s & m
back in sandhill

how singing slows
my soil block-making rhythm
on this mild-temperatured
clouded-over windless day
and how the aragon mill chorus
(at the east end of town
at the foot of the hill
there’s a chimney so tall
it says aragon mill
but there’s no smoke at all
coming out of the stack
for the mill has shut down
and it’s never coming back
and the only sound i hear
is the cryin of the wind
as it blows through the town
weave and spin, weave and spin
well i’m too old to work
and i’m too young to die
tell me where will i go now
my family and i)
lilting out of my own mouth/chest/breath
bring tears to my unshaded eyes
tyler couch-curled and sleeping
to the sizzling pot-clanging dish-clattering
sometimes quiet stirring or washing
sounds of veggie masala, tamari garbanzos, tahini dressing
and darien’s chai  being conjured

the moment the
pre-sunset post-rain sky
breaks hurling molten glaze
onto patches of kitchen wall

how often do you watch the sunset
shua asks while i dish-wash and surface-wipe
if it’s a good week i say everyday
the way moisture in the air
changes sound for instance
freight train hurtling
along track that lies two miles from here
but sounds like it’s
a couple hundred feet away

moon casting over-shoulder glow
as i lay these letters down


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