Annulled
May− thunder was shaking the house
June− Japanese beetle wiry legs lacing
a finger,
July, August, September, I have a hummingbird
in a pit of palm
Look: the mesh of trees, the disbanding, hot
` bowl of light sky,
home.
What I want to say is she’s looking in her mirror
& a plot of ants expelling face &
she’s so welcoming:
beaded mouth, thrumming eye
& he’s drinking with her father.
Purple sage is always drenched
this time of year. It will not die
though I do nothing.
This drought & skull. I never sent
the postcards, only wrote my words
to overwhelm you at home.
What I want to say is I can hear whistling
across a field of flies, sun scatters
veins, amongst the shelter
of my teeth, an ant caught in canine
You remind me of my father,
he told me so,
that & the closing gate
of every story oozes
no one lasts these days
but we stand akimbo & sheen beetle’s wings
into diamonds,
thorax into a chest of wild cherry.