spelled in spent flowers

not a good morning
but a thank you
spoken quiet and close, this
is the way the day begins
there is no way of knowing
what’s next except for
moons rising and
sky sizzling with light and
words and more words and 
wheels rotating on the earth which rotates
around the sun which rises in the east and sets
in the west
i joke about the patch of morning light
landing on my face, my thingh
quoting my own poem saying
that is me saying hey, good morning
while providing pro-tips of how
to safely exit and descend
the loft (also referred to as a treehouse)
dyke-alike she says as we walk the bright white gravel
by chance both donning 
a blue shirt and a purple skirt
swinging the front porch door open
for the final day to gather
around breakfast at the big table 
picking up the batons from our realy of running jokes
and heading off around the curves of the track
the fucking question ‘yes, but what can writing/what can poems do?!’ i say when answering 
the what i’m leaving behind portion of my favorite transition trifecta of: 
one thing you’re taking with you
one thing you’re leaving behind
and one thing you’re looking forward to
applause filing the room as i hand out
glitter-meteor-streaked certificates
honoring each recipient
as a real writer 
and how we shake hands
the gesture a joke
in a room of such intimacy
walking ourselves across the imaginary stage
from where we came from
to where we are heading
comedically draped/position in the sagging hammock amongst hammocks
after the flurry of see you laters
we shuffle the deck to find out what’s next
since the only answer i had to the question was we get on those bikes and ride
the cards revealing
the bike and fireworks of
the eight of keys and the mystery/possibility/systme of the code 
the two pages of brought to light fluttering
in the wind 
fastened to the porch with a half gallon mason jar
containing two rocks
(one blueish one red-brown)
the word YES spelled
in spent flowers
remaining in the space that housed
a moonwatcher
a star-gasper
a lightning-beholder
a big cat
hot enough in oklahoma to wash our sins away
i write down this lyric playing on the country station
and maybe it’s not so much the lyric
but how right a choice
the country station feels at this moment


the only detail that needs to be written

the only detail that needs to be written today is this:
i sleep in a loft and there are two long skinny windows up there – one at my head and one alongside me.
this morning, i woke up to catch the copper-orange sun glow in the sky, mottled by the woods i live tucked in, but still some of that redorange light meeting my greenbluebrown eyes.
i was super sleepy and heavy lidded and in this glimpse, i also saw what looked like a bat – perhaps the one that sleeps everyday on the exterior side of the wall that i sleep on the interior side of
so i laid my head down again before i turned over and propped myself, resisting with a ferociousness the heavy sleep wanting to roll back in, on elbows to just watch (one of my most favorite activities of all time – just watching, especially in a more wild setting)
another sight of a bat flitting by but then
(here is the magic) one small owl landing on the young maple trunk that leans more horizontal than vertical
gray in color and when i say small i mean about 8 or so inches tall
and then another swoops in and they do their funny head dance and for a while it is just them on that trunk probably not more than 20 feet from me
and then i notice a third on that very same trunk
and then one by one they swoop off to other branches and limbs where i can still watch them until they each swoop off yet again and this
is the world saying good morning
to me

another detail (can’t resist)
wherein the phrase comes into my head
that goes you
have so much
to look forward to

and a third, irresistable detail:
moonstar the cat
(who i must carry to my room
if we have a sleepover
because there’s a certain point where she seems to get too scared to follow me
through the dog terrain)
meowing at my window tonight
and how i can’t stop telling her
how brave she was
ok, and a fifth:
the owl calls and hoots and shriek
10pm (barred owls, eastern screech)
going off overhead
and i feel like i am in a treehouse
sleeping with them
and in a sense, i kindof am

about the future

the most researched french toast
flipped with the spatula in tyler’s hand
we feast in celebration
of bernie taking three states

while i pluck the tiniest weeds
from the flats of collards
in the greenhouse under the sound of
rain against roof rachel says
a magical thing about
being whole and present in herself
in connections/interactions with me
the word wonderful a buoy

it’s a labyrinth shiz says
about the future
and later: total pandemonium
in less than two minutes
about what happens with a room
full of third graders
a ya’ll gonna make me lose my mind
up in here moment

me leaning into the computer screen
doubled over with a laughter that keeps rolling
when shannon tells me about the bird
that landed on bernie sanders’ podium
in portland when he was giving a speech

form the water world:
Workers remove oil during a clean-up operation after oil leaked from a cargo ship owned by TS Lines Co (in background), off the shores of New Taipei City, Taiwan.
– voice of america, day in photos