Common Roots Day Dream

A sip of iced garden
mint chamomile tea
and she wants

to believe in more
than the dead
kit below her building

stoop, the fluid
filling her father’s lungs,
the beautiful five

o’clock shadow
framing your face. Mid-syllable,

she comes to. A trance-induced
dialogue snaps
shut. She blinks. Assesses

her surroundings
with fingertips cooled
by glass perspiration. Who

have I been talking to? She asks.
Who will answer? A murmur
behind a smile and she disappears

through the wall
becomes a door.

Up Here

A sculpture outside
another restaurant
that didn’t make it

celebrates a robust
dance in bronze. Limbs
will support a partner’s need

to cry beneath clouds.
Will they break

now or tonight
when reminiscing has begun?
Whose weather will make

the better spin? Some cities
may tie.

Bath

A tree house built
upon itself
without a trunk
to hug. Painted white,
it becomes a crow’s

nest for spying
those moving
things in the grass. Or,
just blades
someone might make

music with—someone
who no longer lives
in the brick house
on that acre
of land missing a tree.