the storm that never hits

a name for the cool pond water
on my frisbee-sweat skin
how i swim the length of it
(or is it the width)
smooth and slow
and exit the water
new
 _______
the big storm that never hits which means after dinner
i bring water to the edamame and asters and snapdragons and celosia and marigolds and cosmos
canful by canful
from the plastic cistern connected to the gutter
just outside the kitchen window on the north side
of the whitehouse
_______
how, after baigs’s mom shares that she sails
on lake michigan (in chicagoland),
i share that i also so the same with my dad, but in milwaukee-land
and i like thinking about the average amount of time it takes pretty much perfect strangers
to find a common denominator between them
_______
the thinnest sliver of the giantest moon
patinad against the black sky
and how if i situate myself just right in the orchard or
on my little walk through the woods path
i find it framed with arcing branches
filled out with their spring-almost-summer leafing
and all of it embellished by the off on signaling
of fireflies
dipping and rising
_______

eric, darien, tyler, cynthia and i
as part of the after zendo after after party
make our way down to karma kitchen to 
sample joseph’s vanilla (soon to be dotted with cookie dough)
ice cream – one of three flavors he’s been putting in the hours to make
for the annual home made ice cream tradition
for emory’s birthday
_______

somehow we get to joking about cool ranch doritos
and how it would be a great name for the room i now dwell in
down at the sugar shack
like this: yeah, so, just take the back road and once you hit cougar town, hang a left (or right, depending on which direction you’re coming in from) at the mill
and you should be able to find cool ranch from there

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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