leaning in

the dog who followed emory and zane home
trotting alongside me on morning run
up/down the hills of underpass road
white fur with light brown patches
_______
emory and i emerging algae-covered
swamp monsters from lookfar pond
_______

jerk i say jokingly when
mica with sad/plead eyes says
about the circle of song we’re making
tookie would love this
_______

song circling under cedar tree we
sing before lunch we
sing before dinner
some songs we clap and stomp/move/roam/rotate
some songs we are seated, still, leaning in
_______
i’m on your dream team adam says
after reflecting how
incredibly possible it is for
my visions to bloom right here
some serious magic being worked
back/forth on this front porch
_______

i hear you say he says you think you should be doing more/
that you think whatever you do is not enough
in an exchange where at some point
each of our pairs of eyes are lightly glazed
with tears
_______

emory’s praying mantis in
cobra/hunting pose
on porch floor
_______
too many too sad tomatoes
collected in too few buckets
and stored on the floor of karma kitchen
_______

gnat whine hovering and buzzing
around both ears while i
pluck papery lanterned
tomatillo fruits
under strange post-dinner sky
(the quality of pink edged clouds
to the north and west
and how pinkgold light radiates
in the south
suggesting storm)
_______

storm rolling in we move from fire
to porch where, in candlelight,
we open our mouths and hearts
to let our voices and guts spill out
_______

the question i say to a phone in the desert
that can receive me but not reach me
is how wide
(in reference to being broken open
by beauty/pain and the ecstaticness and disaster
that is life)