Wry

Into that laughter she takes
a wrong turn, lands
outside a stone 

wall where vines bare
their veins. The host separates
direct light from parallel lines 

across 

wind-stirred dirt. She picks it up
at the last possible moment
before rain drowns out sound.

Barnacle Love

A barnacle clings
to its host, a kiss-up,
annoying to distraction. 

A barnacle hugging
its rocks, the foundation
beds its shore.