into being

morning yoga on cistern under
partially cloudy sky
sunflower-surrounded and wondering
why the hell don’t i do this (move yoga
from my limited floorspace to outdoors)

more often
mosquitoes tracking me in the final stretches

the dominican phrase corinne
tells us about laughing at lunch
i’d nail it in with my
butt cheeks if i had to

standing under roundwood frame
made of
logs we lifted at the count of three
again and again until we got the fit right
we sing circling
may the longtime sun shine upon you all
surround you
and the pure light within  you
guide you on your way home

though we are standing
under this structure we happened to have
harvested, stripped, sawed, chiseled
into being
this build wasn’t about building
at all, but something else entirely that
i cannot quite name i attempt
to articulate

trombone shorty honna calls emory
who is wailing out those trombony notes
while we gather outside the whitehouse
howling and cheering and drumming and brass-banding
to send cynthia, marie and ian off
on their 43 mile pedaling way
honna and i bumping into each other
at the sink familiar i laugh/ask
referring to the trainwreck/sinking ship
that was our beloved back to back collective cafe

corinne at kitchen table scketching a
a one-woodchuck-band farewell

color-penciling shrinky dink charms
for dagny’s 10th birthday while
tyler mica and i sing and sing
trying to figure out the
tune/harmony to
home to the motherland
home to the motherland
home i’m going home
i need the land to heal my soul
take me home over the green
green fields and far away

i feel like 41
dad says on his 68th birthday
after my afternoon nap we laugh

lake michigan sailing report
we did a lot of heeling
you know, leaning over in the boat

treefrog attached to screen from outside
exposing rounded light-colored belly and
splayed sticky grippy digits


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