It’s all in the way that you stand. You can choose to chase the fall or risk burnt shoulders and fall asleep beneath the sun’s smother. I’ve got the Hamza River on my side. I play hide-n-go-seek with its depth. I tap its tender water and bathe away all that loneliness echoing against body. 13,000 feet beneath Amazon River and you can find me holding my breath long enough to uncover secrets. When you are ready, meditate on what arrived to make you pack up so quickly. I’ve rid my life of suitcases; I’m attempting to remain. Darling, when you think of me, can you ring? Can you flap your bones toward my river? I’ve got four shadows. There is an omen hidden in the splash. Rocks and sea glass wait for your eyes, which is deeper than brown and more like mirror’d earth. I can only float for so long; the weight of this paper against body splinters. There is a waterproof map, a steering wheel, some empty bottles and my hands. All of this waits for your hold.




you are made to leave but never do

When does a root first arrive and what is its blood type.
Speak on the unfairness of graves and governmental restrictions.
Who does this earth really belong to.
What hasn’t been noticed yet.
There is no freedom from war.
Horses were replaced by rubber and aluminum.
Is your music religious.
Pasts get lost unless they are hooked to leashes.
Birds may be painted but not fingernails or walls.
I used to be a lightening bug but now I am a neon smudge against suburban sidewalk.

I am singing for the first time and I do not need to be trapped beneath layers of conditioner and green tea soap on my body in the bathtub. I am sewing the seams of ripped poems and savoring the sound of new language from this decade merge with my younger self. Maybe I don’t need that stage to tell you what I’m like. Want to gather up this mess? Bring a flare gun, some candles, a map of your favorite place to dream about, bring some tea, lemon cake and a blanket. I’ll supply the moon and my mouth.