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Gift Every day startles in and you wonder if you’ll ever get across:
bugs in the brickwork hoarfrost in the car the descending door cuts the caterpillar. It was a very near thing and there was always a bottle and there was always a boy precisely innocent.
A matter-of-fact bird divides mist and sunlight to be a beast and its wings and body grow weary which apparently I am.
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outlined in or with shadows
(I had my child I was alone)
now go on
Small town always dear dusty and in winter snow-covered.
There is at the zoo a spotted lynx a snow leopard a cage of butterflies a netted room.
It may be there is no such thing as a love affair yet there is also a little impulse in the world. Wildness is necessary time off and on.
Spider on the concrete hawk in the field frost on the grass in the shadow of the yard
is a laughy house at the top of a flat world, suburb of mountains around the family darling sun turns frost to dew and spider webs line low grass shining like the sea.
This morning little friends— boys with tiny cars landscape flicking by a sparkly bead here around the driveway.
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