wild green things

the scratches mama cat leaves
when i swoop the toy pummy
(too short) past her quick and sharp claws
the message, like a bird, swooping in
as i walk through the basement kitchen:
this place is dying
how jack the jack russell and i
walking in our own states of happiness
and our shared state of happiness
down the gravel road
in the humid heat
feels like home
the salad of wild green things

darien prepared and how i go back
to try, for the first time:
milkweed pods and milkweed flowers
accompanied by the lamb’s quarters he foraged
how we howl with our laughter
at the nonsense of the if/then game
which produces various hilariousnesses
such as:
what if our souls could merge with everyone else’s souls?
then there would be a lot more moats in the world
henri tossing paper scraps to ashby the cat
and then giggle-laughing
at how he plays/bats
at each crinkly bit

sounds like they’re playing little castanets
i say of the cricket frogs clicking/croaking

around the edges of apple’s pond
that we walk our way down into
in the dark
the sky spilling its star soup
across itself
on the edge
of sleep in the wavy-walled cabin
whose floor is marked with an anarchy-A in a heart
she says i like the us
that we are becoming

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