Analemma

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.

Metamorphosis in Two Spheres

A dime in the street
becomes two touching
a flatness tires can’t roll
away. Infinity sleeps outside 

before summer solstice
in the rain. With morning, it rises 

to become a figure eight
on air—hold the ice.
Keep going, dare
ascendance and serifs. By midday, 

it just might become
this ampersand above
tree canopies flirting
with young gulls and moths.