is beauty jumping a Bay

meringue evening-sky
nowhere as much beauty as on the Gulf,
but reminds in a soft-spoken way—
trees laden with dark green toss gently
though nowhere as dramatic as palm trees,
all different kinds.
no Bay.
no mullet fish jumping,

though upstairs a neighbor’s legs lunge on creaking floorboards
“moody,” says the now-starched evening sky
leaves on different branches
kiss and nestle
again and again
bird sounds flicker
rushing cars could be waves humping shore
I don’t mean to write a celebration,
not even in hindsight (nostalgia)
sky a tunnel now
tonight nowhere is dashing

night tree

squirrels of time
petit fours; birds landing, pecking, dithering, somnabulist tree spider in the
neighborhood why o why might I ask the stars the sky marbled with fat the trees
satin with delight arm-wrestling for sure don’t be picky for when the snarls come
o to see exposed roots—

on its word? mother
bark so-help
zero in the nearing; the inevitable night, zero afterwards.

a/my/the race—

time for a “connected” mother
being
“connected”? in this mother, in nearing death, there’s: word?
it’s for the given, given, mother, I race this maternal instinct night tree

veins, membranes, shine. light left stranded.
—texture-wise, fragile veins of luminosity. light, of of fragile flicker light

sun on a mantle

still lines
waiting to converge
characters       tiny hearts

air made of statues,
ghosts of the living, in my case,
and case is a home
for many things.