Day 197

I need you tonight,
moon, am collapsing in
the curve of you.  I found 

a wrench in the street this morning.
I need you tonight,
throwing tools 

(I am afraid to use)
before me, am reaching to cradle
my own knees— 

bruised by misjudgment.
These arms, these fingers are too
stiff. Right tighter, left 

looser, bolts land
arranged in a pattern. I found
it could help 

reckon through clouds,
stars aligning behind.

If You Please

Regrets only
raise the lower
tree line equally. Bottom
leaves hidden from sunlight, they die 

at the same rate. If I succeed
in not showing up
for another family pageant to appear
before you a doom 

eager stranger mouthing
simple questions
about your coniferous forest,
I just might dig up my balance 

beam in this black dirt.
Just might please the wind
to respond through your branches overnight.

Preparing for the Change

September rain not really falling,
but has fallen. Clouds mess 

with her chance to witness
another civil 

twilight. But a western gleam
signals another shift. And 

she wishes she could find the hidden white
pine forest, tucked into it 

creek, where she would be safe to write
his name in the needle bed
dirt without 

getting found out.
But branches get so heavy 

this time of year. Hotter 

and hotter, later till
that moment when it gets very cool.