crab apples for the sound of it. Light cannot
be bitter. The backyard licks us.
Blue like kindling, the fox we caught with
a shoebox. Your shirt is a constellation
in the tent of recovery. If you release the hand
you relax the animal. Bookshelves hold up
the moon. I sweep your fur into a feeling.
I put you into my memories on purpose.
Moss smuggles stars into your cheeks.
Inside your body’s future, bravery turns to pulp.
The flashlight pendulum. Your face sounds like that
record player. Electric & spinning.
Let’s grow old together. Don’t be scared
of Gertrude Stein. Be brave.
