All my fears –

death, destruction, disease –

I love you more than the sun,

more than the rain

The stars are slowing just enough

for me to see between them.

I can see the seasons changing

with my skin —

I hear it on the border of our clamor —

Beneath the window's crinkled corner

Love is in the details

I feel myself unravel

like a summer skein of hues

Like a flipped-over puzzle to me

I’d like to think the forest and I

have something in common:

It is a soft thing, my memory of you

There’s something about

new-wave jazz

My emotions perch precarious inside me.

We are all a little something human

Now is thicker than before.

Deeply out of practice

Spinning,

like a top atop

an Everest of regrets

We’ve got an Andy Warhol sofa

in the living room.

It smells quite like a diner on Avon

I find myself unduly composed

in the most malignant moments—