moon-made or maybe

slap of thin yoga mat
as i unroll it on living room floor diagonally
and the aches that reveal
the places sickness settled
as i stretch limb, muscles, tendons, skin
_______
sharp knife slide-sinking
into citrus skin,
fruit of a san francisco back yard orange tree
gifted with the caveat of
i don’t know if it’s good or not
its tart sweet juiciness
proving its ultra-goodness
which means i kick myself for not consuming a
small citrus fortune each morning spent
at bryant street
_______
they look like a fucking oil slick
gina says about the starlings that
swoop into the feeder
booting the downy woodpecker
out of the bird buffet
_______
one hand holding daphna’s the other
wrapped around shiz’s
surprised to find what the layers are made of
and how the body/heart/brain reveals itself
when i find myself saying
i just want to be home
_______
verdant is not a word i usually use but
how can one not
when referring to the
patches of moss
softbursting in strips
where the sidewalk cracks
_______
something like a bouquet
of silver flowers,
moon-made or maybe stardipped,
bursting inside ribcage when i think of
how i carry
all people i love
in this vessel called body
as we roll from one end
of the nightwaters
(willamette river reflecting back all the lights
of street and building and city)
to the other
on a bridge i have crossed many
times before this one
_______
similar to how i say
that means its working
about a poem when it makes someone cry,
tonight tears come
before i can even begin to articulate
what the sounds are doing to make me respond this way
seated in row q at the portland syphony
about three minutes into
gustav holst’s jupiter from the planets symphony
(precisely at 2:54 in this video)

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