Downtown

The sun, of course, makes no sense today,
like the drunken fucks that just spilled
a pitcher of beer across the sidewalk.
It makes it all come to me, the blindness
that overturns what you’ve kicked
in the ribs, to keep down.
I am trying to cross through traffic,
and why not follow that stream?
It knows the way when it’s lost.
I wanna be that thing that says sorry
without wanting one more thing,
who knows the epiphany of vomit
as it licks it up, the glitter of sun
pissing all over the sidewalk.
I’m trying to let words tell the truth,
those heartless bastards, that could do with
one more, what the hell,
one more chance.

Beauty Lake Rd.

All afternoon
and near night
this deer
inside me
scenting for
its place
to die and lay
together,
this
deer, this
me,
we search
the sky
for it, or
the light
of each place,
to enter earth
’til finally
we see,
stepping
into
our tracks
to take us
there, the bird
that turns
air into
rivershape.

Concession Rd. 7

I’m beginning to doubt even what I do not see,
in front of me. I cannot account for the fridge door,
opened wide. I can’t say why I ordered coffee.
If they stopped me now, asking, who’d confess to speeding
past the limit? This is less plain than it looks.
I must direct myself to write down each thing I forget, to come as close
as I can come to things that are moving away — they’re hints,
I remind myself. They’re side roads that let me imagine
the taste of leaves in their trees, paper-thin dust on the tip of
the tongue.

North Bay Fire 72

The backcountry hasn’t found its way back into rain
for weeks. Fires breathe in dark green between
Lehay and Makobe. Is rain the manifestation of touch?
Tenuous lightening spreading, like the shadows
of low clouds over Maple Mountain?
It feels so much when you barely feel it.
The skin turns spirit.
I’ve followed them on the maps for days.
Despite what we feel, they’re not out of control;
something within’s forming a single path
to all the rivers in the body.