the swarm of ants
scurrying about on the log (that is their home) catching blaze
in the coals of the stove
how i whisper my apologies and blessings upon this discovery

up til three a.m. i say, moving slow from undersleep
reading a book

the bright rainbowed variations
of flags printed (by kate, the boatbuilder) with a linoleum cut image
of the grand canyon
flapping and flipping between the two posts they are strung to
in the wind

orange glow and continuous crackling
from the fire in the stove 
as it heats and cools
leaning in for a closer look
at the colors woven together in mica’s
rag rug as she 
selects strips and up/downs them
(i don’t recall all the colors, but i do recall the light blue)

i had to walk myself through, outloud, getting into that shower
matt says about a disgustingly dirty shower
in a disgustingly dirty place he and caroline and henri
visited last year

hot box, we could call it i say of the cedar room
under the influence of a fire in the stove
built with logs big enough
that i’m down to a tank top and skirt
to do yoga
on this 40-something degree day

the bucket brigade baigz says
as i pull up a bucket to sit next to  him on his bucket
at dinner in the kitchen which is what one might call a full house


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