[Road Trip Tender]

   I have a tendency to fall in love with my friends.
   Give me this one thing. Her outfit skin-tight but her heart
   Remained uncovered. It's true, I took her down to the delta
   & fed her sandwiches, caressed her underbelly, coerced
   Each timid nipple skyward, & still I did not wake. Or I woke
   But did not dream. The night was still & charged, lightning
   Just about to crack its whip across the sky's wide back;
   The moment right before, suspended. This my litany,
   My tackle box of sacred objects, omens rubbed to sheen.
   The plan was to go away for a while, come back less empty
   Handed. Fill my arms to find my breaking point.
   Only after my pockets feed the jukebox one too many
   Shiny quarters. Only after subterfuge spins
   & what distills lies wide-eyed & panting in my palm.



[Span Of A Splinted Wing]

   And what distills lies wide-eyed & panting in my palm.
   As when a crow—sleek-feathered, orb-eyed, determined—
   Picks through a stink-heap of what has been cast off
   & set aside to dissolve alone, he disrupts his beaking
   At the shine of a coin, a fleck of glass, a pearl earring,
   A bottle cap, any glint-spitting object. He makes
   No move to disguise his hoard as rabbinical,
   Dips the black arc of his wet head again & again
   Toward what he mistakes as light's source,
   What he thinks to be numinous, fail-proof, remarkably
   Uncounterfeit. To be perfectly honest, in my hand
   A bus ticket. This time round-trip. This time carry-on
   My only baggage, around my neck a charm all silver-shine
   & amulet maneuvers. All shone & shown again.




[Mooring, Soaked Clean Through]

   What I wouldn't do for the sun to slit us clean through—
   The terrible keen kick of my reversed first foot,
   The glass that best represents your viscous self,
   Slipshod & vigilant. Water finds its own sweet level.
   And one by one, they pattern themselves after each other.
   A pulse urging tempt me, tempt me. And I did.
   I have a tendency to fall in love with my friends
   & what distills lies wide-eyed & panting in my palm.
   Amulet maneuvers. All shone & show again,
   Rust growing in complex patterns on my stolen bike.
   Through a series of missives, anything is possible.
   Opens one wet eye. Then, slowly, squinting, the other.
   It is adoration, not co-dependency, she feels.
   Amorous wind & the sparrows' restless wheeling.