A landscape formed, rocks
that dissolve
over time, inside the cave
smiles are felt,

not seen. From there
a walk along
an unnatural canal,
his eyes don’t adjust

so quickly. A pair
of shades and he’s ready
to destroy myths:

Bats can see.
Tornadoes can pummel
downtown church steeples.
Some people can go

home. He’s not
one of them.

The Second Time You Visited Me in a Dream Were We in the Algarve?

We sit beside a pool
inside a villa’s iron gates. A foreign country—
which one? Do you
live here? I know

I don’t. Take my driver,
you say. I don’t want to
leave. I try to get
your attention. Why

is this box
full of water? Something sloshes
inside. But when I lift the lid
all I see is

a science pamphlet
written in English. I read
the words aloud to you
hoping for a humorous phrase

or double entendre too profound
for you to ignore. Karst. Sinkhole.

Biodiversity. Endangered
what? Tourism? Amnesia? Fantasy?

You look me directly in the eye, or
you see a greater
flamingo land on the stone wall
behind me. Whoever blinks first—

Moon at 6:28 am

A dew droplet. Bubble
in silhouette. A hole-punched
hole perforates
the sky. Remove the rusted

O and take
a look inside. If
the peephole is too
high, lower

your expectations. Low

lower slowest
way to count
clouds interfering
with a direct route

to the interior
of the other side.


Eventually we begin
to repeat ourselves—the same three
chords, color
pattern, farewell
line in a breakup
text, taste
of ginger
on the tongue. Everything

becomes someone’s
déjà vu, even the truest
saudade expressed
on the side
of a broken
boat in a field.

Step on
my shadow, but don’t
float away
before I recall
your first private
murmurs at dusk.


Inverted, elongated,
fringed, unfringed, banged, shingled,
side-parted at the nape
of the neck, scandalous,
modern, cloched, graduated,
shaggy, buzzed,
A-line, revolutionary,
mere fashion statement, angry
flower, or wayward guitarist
sleeping on your porch.

Middle November Night

A picture falls
off the wall
in my dream. Nothing
breaks. No explanation

necessary in my dream. The room
changes shape. Misaligned

pelvis or sacrum
or love
of lighthouses
could cause this

pain felt when awake. In my
dream, numb and suspended

and just
out of reach.

Bridge Texture

The knitter in a café
whispers to herself—is it

do drop
or don’t

a stitch? An allergy
to wool is not the same
as a fear

of sheep
staples. Those long blunt
needles could be

walking sticks
for gods or
batons for

conducting accidental
pauses in an unclaimed song.