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

This dream soil is rich with clay.
We should dig out a pond, mound up an island
at its middle, and sail hobby-boats of square sales

the sadness of it all made me believe some people are born
by contradictory value & others, by veneration

Do you hear the wren
through the thin window-glass?

What are some flowers
to the starling
picking insects for her hatchlings
from between the blooms

all the sunlight of
dawn gathered and burnished to a golden

sheen,

surrounded by strange trees & prickly bushes & tiny lawns & dangling flowers & so many
rows of succulents & morning light licking the bricks
everywhere

By King Grossman Through the gray blanketing cloudsa breakthrough of silverstop and lookstop everythingwhen the blue dogis most low downfrom out across the Pacificthe beam is there earlier today i’d…

There was humor there, wryness,
even crusted over with anger, gentleness
that made me ache.

Today I’m about as blue as a mixing bowl,
a denim skirt, a velvet sleeve, my own
personal blue beyond violets, sixties’ eyeshadow,
the sad-eyed sound of Elvis’s voice.