A bloody business, this annual
pruning; the thorns still razor sharp; fingers and
forearms scored scarlet;

The thought meandered, then
I realized the problem
All the single-use
plastic,

but for now, all we can do is remain silent and peek
through the cracks between jambs caused by frigid waters,
reminding ourselves that our children will not be slaves;
they will be masters of the land, air, and sea

An excess of
Merriment feels like something you should pay
Extra for, a judgment requiring forfeit
To balance an unforgiving scale.

I’m still here, otherwise, if not for a surrounding grace. If not for the radiant
eye of my God. If not for thinking death is me actually being born

love is the light most glad of all that receives the wound & that gives
new life & light to it, too,
the bird said to me, so it can be healed & so that it can be delighted.

we closed our eyes, a brief moment, then opened them, to drop headfirst, each lobster—oh, how they folded into their selves—

In a split moment
the branch of the sycamore
sheds its leaves. Therefore,

what I see is for this moment, only,
never to exist the same again.

Night begins with this beheading, but also blooming:
skull-colored tuberose bleeding paradise’s sweet scent of a bird calling in an abyss

Your tail flutters like a white flag.
The half-light flattens. It’s your eye
that keeps fighting