the molten-izing

plucking collard leaf made lace
by some pest or disease
i hold the delicate filigree up
to cast its intricate shadow
on cart, on hay mulch, on other non-lacey collard leaf
2015 – year of the too-wet wheat and moldy
dent corn and unplanted pintos and
short/weedy sorghum and
blighty tomatoes and wilty cucumbers
and rabbit-chomped okra
tyler and i joke about
how we shoulda just
closed up shop
slapped the gone fishin‘ sign on the door and
gone to hawaii

a slice of new moon (in leo) wisdoms from chani nicholas:
The problem with having a heart is that at some point it will most likely be ripped from our chest, stomped on, disregarded, ridiculed, refused, laughed at, misjudged, misunderstood and left.
The problem with being human is that at some point we will most likely be the one to do such damage to another. There is no winning this war. We love, we hurt, we cause hurt, we put ourselves back together and we love again.

stringing zinnias, burning sweetgrass, spit-shining a heart
preparation-ing for a gold gilding-est glittered bon voyage
there is probably a name
for the images we
carry in us and pull out
(like the combat soldier who
carries a picture of a pretty someone)
while we’re caught in the twists of turbulence

emory and i biking along the curve of
highway M if jack the dog i ask could talk
what do you think he would tell us about
his life before
and emory huffs/puffs pedaling
alongside gives the play by play about
his mean owner and running away and meeting his
friend named blue heeler and following emory
on his bike across the highway
i explain the sailing term come about
while motoring emory around
in mini tube on the almost-sunset
gold-lit pond
zigs and zags i say about
the way a sailboat makes a
straight line across the water
reflection of pond ripples
shining on deck
emory notices/likes/points out
(a gesture this detail collector
deeply appreciates)
while we motor and steer
with our limbs
i move my hand
not to the tempo but rather
to the rise and fall of notes and where
they are in relation to each other
while we sing about twining our voices together
in the short time we have
a sensation similar to steering a great vessel
even though i’ve never done so before
in truck-back under
star-flooded sky
the song about the guides
(thank you for lookin out for me
thank you for lookin out for me)
offered to every molecule of air i move through
there is a name for this magic
(the molten-izing [gold melt] of everything
inside me)
from the water world:

A boy swims in floodwaters at Kyaut Ye village near the Hinthada town in Myanmar’s Irrawaddy Delta region.  – voice of america, day in photos

Water flows through a series of retention ponds built to contain and filter out heavy metals and chemicals from the Gold King mine wastewater accident, in the spillway about 1/4 mile downstream from the mine, outside Silverton, Colorado, USA. – voice of america, day in photos

In this photo released by the Italian Navy, a migrant is lifted by an helicopter from the Italian Navy ship Orione, after he and another migrant were spotted clinging to a barrel, in the Mediterranean sea, between Libya and Italy. – voice of america, day in photos

and a mini photo essay:

this (grief/hurt/trauma):
(A wounded Syrian girl cries at a makeshift hospital in the rebel-held area of Douma, east of the capital Damascus, following reported airstrikes by regime forces. At least 27 civilians were killed in airstrikes on the Eastern Ghouta region near Damascus according to a monitoring group.)

is why war-fleers (in this case, syrian people)  find it necesssary (by any means necessary) to do this:
(An officer onboard a Greek Coast Guard boat (L) talks to Syrian refugees overcrowding a dinghy as it drifts in the Aegean Sea between Turkey and Greece after its motor broke down off the Greek island of Kos.)


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