She made small porcelain bicycles. It just so happened he needed small porcelain bicycles.
There was a moon, a beach, a diamond and this forever that began.
A sudden book falls from the table into loud silence, into the heat, into a passing cloud.
In my schedule book beside 10am,
I’d written – sweet raspberries.
Then it came to me. I’d meant you.
It’s a 1pm-Sunday-house: roast chicken, buttered new potatoes, fresh green beans, and apple pie. I’ll do the dishes. You go watch the game.
. . . at night when all the birds are still photos . . .
The clouds were flat paper until it began to rain books.
Each day some of us,
many of us, dare
the world to carry on.
Can any of you truly
not see the world
daring us back?
I wrote this chocolate-chocolate cake for you. Begin anywhere. It’s round. It will know where to continue when you want to read more of me.
A beach is the desert’s poem.