The snowglobe settles slowly
Into the townscape.  She watches
Fretful for the postman
Caught in the storm.  Caught in the glass.
She saddens.  She shakes the globe

I didn’t take it seriously until she said
Life is fun, after telling me of a pain she couldn’t put into words
And I saw it in her eyes

I am sliding across
your rippling image.
A flash of glass,
a rope of bones.

 I've never really liked the sound
of my voice so I’ll let my body speak.
It moves with more confidence
although both are small. My voice sounds like
the ding of a triangle – the tiny three-sided
percussion instrument, but my body trusts in dancing;
it’s sure of its turns and landings to leaps,
I’m least likely to stutter if I use my hands,
my arms, my legs, and my feet.

Cross-legged on the floor,
he looks across the lawn,
sings love songs
which are not for her.

I’m tracing
her brown eyed gaze– softness
of bare flesh shoulders, ease
moist lips seek purchase, denied

her sweetness. 

1.

I wake up before you do
and watch the sunlight glide across your face.
I count the stubble at your jawline.
Yesterday the hair was four tenths of inch long.
Today it is five.

A teenager spends her days and nights
as the final girl in a slasher movie. Every summer,
she’s the only camp counselor who leaves the cabin
in one piece. On Halloween, the only babysitter left breathing.

Maybe each wind
is a whole lot of winds.
Maybe there’s a brotherhood of winds.

I venture the tip of my boot on to the grass,
push down and see the blades fold. When they
rise back up slowly like awakening vampires
I think, Not yet.