here, everything has an echo

trish’s offering of 
bitmojis 
as a form of 
cheering me on
_______
what looks like a border patrol headquarters
(seemingly white trucks with green stripe)
from a distance near the intersection of
siringo road and yucca street as my lungs
adjust to the 7,000 feet as i run
into the cold morning 
but i know i’m not in southern arizona anymore
_______
all of the stereotypes are true franco says of his native miami
_______

jessica and i pathcrossing in the kitchen
both at breakfast and dinner
me cooking high-altitude quinoa (meaning, i just keep adding that water)
and her cooking beat egg mixed into water with a some oil
and a little bit of salt/sugar (in place of the chicken bullion)
living poor in parts of china she says my parents learned
to add water to the eggs
to make them go further
(flan-like  she says about the finished dish)
_______

here, everything has an echo
that reverberates at least 5 times
(imagine, then, the punch
of every letter
of a page-and-a-half-long poem)
_______

the little hail/big snowflakes i scoop with my finger
from the chair outside room #2’s back door
and lick up
tasting santa fe winter
_______

it’s not intentional joolie says
but it’s not thoughtful either
_______

how i lay on the bathroom tile
in the skylight glow
(whiteish blueish light)
marveling at the sound of rain/snow/hail against it
this is the shape that closeness to the natural world takes
_______

the glare of orange industrial light
that meets each night glance
out the backdoor window of room #2
_______
the decadance of bare feet on a 
radiant heat cement floor
________
stirred out of possible sleep
by #3’s  phone conversation at 
1am
i write a list
of the local sacred and profane

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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