this corridor of transformation

in the dream
i receive a letter with forms and documents
that says she has been put in a cage
and what unfolds after that
is a revealing of how i
really feel
(an i love you uttered
from the densest depth of my bones
not sexual/romantic
just rivers of infinite care)


four of us
methodically plucking
the expanse of volunteer tomatillo plants
that popped up in the cover crop
where last year’s tomatillos
were disc-ed in

cynthia in her puffy red cap/hat
as she reveals her prized item:


once again
the magic of a cookshift
(plus playlist)
ferrying me from
one emotional state to another
while the stir-fry sizzles
and the potatoes and squash roast
and the dahl simmers
and the rice sits quietly
cooking in the haybox
the silence i wade across
to arrive at tonight’s self-appreciation
(setting tiem aside for new moon intentioning)
which feels a little like a cop-out and
if i had a re-do, it’d be something
about walking this corridor
of transformation
that sometimes doesn’t look
like a corridor of transformation at all
(but rather a trudging or wallowing or
some kind of stuckness)


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